It was only a short wait before a man descended the stairs, smiling down at them. Emma looked up to find her eyes caught by the man’s black gaze. Emma swallowed the fear choking her. The man wore his black hair long and tied back behind his neck. Dressed in black, he looked dangerous, despite the soft whiteness of his skin. He walked to them as though he was a lion, prowling around his pray. In a split second, Emma knew her new husband was powerful and dangerous.
“You must be Miss Tanner,” he purred, taking her hand in his and lightly kissing the back.
Mixed with her fear, Emma felt an excitement burst within her.
“Pleasure to meet you, Mr. Mewborn,” she said, trying to sound demure.
His smile widened. He saw through her act in an instance.
“And Mrs. Tanner. Thank you for this beautiful specimen you have gifted me.”
Emma felt her spine stiffen. She didn’t like being compared to a statuette one might place on a mantel.
“She is my most precious possession, sir,” said her mother, continuing with the rude analogy. “I hope you will take good care of her, even when I am gone.”
“You have my word, madam.”
“If you are done talking about me as though I am not here…” Emma hinted, not finishing her sentence.
Mr. Mewborn smirked over at her. “Of course, Miss Tanner. I have sent for the preacher. He will be here before dinner so that we might dispense with the formalities. Mr. Dupree, will you take Mrs. Tanner to her room to rest. I’ll give Miss Tanner a quick tour of the house.”
Mr. Dupree, who had joined them in the foyer without Emma noticing, bowed his acceptance and escorted her mother up to the second floor. Mr. Mewborn offered her his arm and escorted her in his tour. It took them nearly an hour to go over the house. Emma refused to admit it, but it was the most beautiful house she had ever seen, despite the continual lack of natural light. Each room was ruthlessly shuttered against the bright, tropical sun.
Finally, Mr. Mewborn escorted her into the drawing room, where he lit a few candles.
“Might I open the curtains, sir?” she asked, trying her best to be polite.
“No,” he snapped, barely letting her finish her request. “Forgive me. I have an eye condition. I cannot handle bright light. While I am in the room, I must request that you keep the curtains drawn. If you are alone, then you may open them, slightly, so long as you shut them before leaving the room. All the staff knows these rule and will help you remember.”
Emma stared at him for a moment, before realizing she was being rude. “Of course, sir.”
“Please, call me Philip.”
Emma smiled. “And you may call me Emma.”
Philip sauntered up to her, his ego firmly back in place. He reached her and carefully placed a white finger under her chin, tipping her face up to look at him.
“However did you remain unattached, my dear?” he asked in a caressing voice.
Emma felt her knees tremble and her cheek heat against his touch.
“I never thought much of matrimony,” she said, speaking her mind without intending to.
Philip gave her another smirk. “Then we are in agreement. But when my friend showed me your painting, I simply couldn’t resist you.”
Emma licked her lips, suddenly feeling very thirsty and feint. The movement caught Philip’s attention. Before she could think of something else to say, he caught her lips in a kiss, his hands pulling her against his hard chest. Emma let out a squeak of surprise, having never been kissed before. At first she thought it only wet and awkward, but a fire began to grow inside her, starting in the pit of her stomach and spreading to her legs.
Her knees gave out and she would have collapsed had his strong arms not caught her. Philip lifted her off her feet with ease, walking her to one of the sofas as her arms wrapped around her neck on their own accord. Before she could protest, he laid her along the length of the delicate sofa, collapsing on top of her.
Emma had never been so enthralled before in her life. Her whole body felt as though it needed him to come closer, and yet without removing clothing they couldn’t get much closer. Philips hands moved until one of them cupped a plump white breast peeking out the top of her gown, giving it a gentle squeeze. Emma groaned against his lips, her hands running down his strong back.
Before she knew what was happening, Emma felt the skirting of her gown begin to ride up, revealing her stockinged legs. Her whole body cried out to ignore the intrusion, but the morals her mother had taught her forced her to turn her head away from his kisses. She did so, but he continued to brush his lips along the lines of her long neck.
“Philip. Please. Stop,” she panted.
To her astonishment, he did.
“We are not wed,” she whispered, fearing his angry response.
Instead, he gave her another smirk. “You’re right,” he said, climbing off of her.
Emma sat up and blushed as she pulled her dress down to cover her legs.
“Tonight, though,” he said with a gleam in his dark eyes, “that will not be the case.”
Emma swallowed the sudden lump in her throat, causing him to laugh. The sound of his laughter made her shiver with fear. There was an edge to it she didn’t like and didn’t understand.
True to his word, the preacher arrived just before dinner and preformed the quick ceremony. Before Emma knew what had happened, she was married. She and her mother sat with Philip in the dining room, slowly eating the feast laid out before them. Emma couldn’t do it justice.
Her mother had explained her wifely duties in such details that Emma felt certain she would not be able to endure it with any grace, but as she thought back to her brief moment of pleasure with Philip earlier in the afternoon, she wondered if her mother had been mistaken. Her mother spoke of the nightly event as though it were a horrid travesty, and yet Emma had enjoyed the obvious prelude to that act earlier. She didn’t know whether to fear it or look forward to it.
Long before she could come to any conclusion, Philip rose from his seat, smiling down at her. He reached out for her and she took his hand, her fingers tingling at his touch. Emma glanced back at her mother, who gave her a warning look. It said: Please your new husband. Suddenly the fear overtook Emma.
“You’ll excuse us, dear mother,” he said in a tone that brought an instant smile to her mother’s lips.
Her mother gave them a regal nod and turned away as Philip led Emma up the stairs to their suite. He opened the doors to a large room surrounding an enormous bed, covered in velvet of deep blue. Across the room Emma spotted doors that must have led to a veranda based on the dark curtains draping over them. On another wall she noticed another set of doors propped open to reveal what looked to be a second bedroom.
“Your room, my dear,” he said, waving toward the open doors. “You are free to use it as you choose, so long as I have access to you at all times.”
Emma nodded, not truly understanding what he meant. Before she could walk forward to explore, Philip pulled her into his arms, bringing their lips together.
The rest of the night felt nothing like their brief moment of passion earlier in the afternoon. In fact, it felt more like how her mother had described the act, though her mother had never mentioned the sharp pain she felt in her neck at the end of the ordeal.
Emma grimaced, clamping her mouth shut. She remembered her mother saying that she was not to make a sound while her new husband was consummating their union. She assumed the pain in her neck was a part of their consummation. After all, it had hurt in other places too.
Before the pain ended, she began to feel weak and drowsy. Emma gave in to the feeling and drifted into darkness, her husband still on top of her.
When Emma woke she knew something was different, and that it had little to do with her lack of virginity. In fact, she felt nothing like how her mother had described the first morning of marriage. She wasn’t sore or tired. Instead Emma felt energetic, exhilarated even.
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Emma looked over to the other side of the bed. It was empty, though it showed signs of someone having slept beside her. Before Emma could climb out of bed, a gentle knock filled her room.
“Come in,” she said just above a whisper.
The door opened and her mother entered with a breakfast tray.
Emma swallowed, feeling a rawness in her throat and fearing she might be coming down with a cold. She licked her lips in anticipation of the meal. Emma doubted she had ever been this hungry before. She climbed out of bed and covered herself with the dressing gown laying at the foot of the bed.
Her mother gave her a small, knowing smile and Emma felt a surge of guilt. Why don’t I hurt like mamma said I would?
Emma approached her mother, feeling her hunger increase as she drew near. Her throat grew raw and her gums ached. Was this what mamma meant by pain?
Before Emma could ask, something strange happened. Emma jumped forward, knocking the tray from her mother’s hands. She grabbed her mother’s plump shoulders and bit her on the neck, right where the odd pain had been during the previous night.
The next thing Emma knew she was crouching on the floor over her mother’s bloody body and her husband stood in the doorway, a cunning smile playing on his lips.
“What have you done to me?” Emma asked.
Emma sat in her drawing room, reading her book while the maid dusted the furniture. As was his habit, Philip joined her after their midday meal—one of Philip’s routines to make them appear human—and took up the St. Kitt’s newspaper. Emma’s eyes flicked up to the maid and gave her a discrete nod from behind her large book.
As planned, the maid casually dusted up to one of the heavy curtains. Before Philip could notice the woman’s proximity to the protective fabric, she had jerked the curtain away, the sunlight shinning down right on his chair. Philip immediately began to writhe in pain. He fell out of his chair as he tried to climb to his feet and attack the maid, but she had already moved to open the next curtain.
Emma slipped out of her seat and tucked her small body in a corner beside the deep bookcases while the maid moved to each window, opening them on her dying master. Just a few minutes after the maid had opened the first curtain, Philip burst into flames and crumbled into ash.
Quickly the maid moved to close the curtains again. Emma emerged from her hiding place with a smile on her face. It had taken her over five years to find the right person to trust.
Sarah, the maid, had been feeding Philip since she was a small girl working as a scullery maid. As a young orphan, Sarah had found her way into a position in Philip’s home, not realizing he would never let her leave. Philip drew the unwanted to him, seducing him in his own way, until they were trapped by his web of power.
Once a servant of Philip Mewborn, always a servant.
Slowly, Emma had noticed Sarah’s dissatisfaction for her life. Using extreme caution, Emma had struck up a friendship with the young maid, until she finally broached the subject of killing Philip. They had been working on their plan for some time now.
Sarah let out a heavy sigh before the two women burst into laughter. Both of them had gained their freedom that day.
“Now to plan our trip,” Emma said once their mirth had died down.
Sarah nodded. “I already talked to some of the workers. Most of ‘em wanna to find their families, but some are willin’ to come with us to Europe.”
“And you’ll be my new lady’s maid.”
Sarah smiled, happy with her promotion. “It would be my honor.”
Emma smiled, happy with her new freedom.
Chapter Four: Sucks to be You
Isaac Wilson had never felt so out of place in his life. Then again, he had never been one for going into an environment he couldn’t control. The budding city of Chicago was exactly the sort of environment that eluded any control. Being raised in the wilds of Montana, Isaac didn’t even know where to look for a room within the labyrinth of city streets.
Isaac stepped off the steam train, immediately lost amongst the throng filling the platform. He felt out of place in his denim trousers, button up flannel shirt, and Stetson. Though he might have been in fashion on the streets of Billings, here he stood out on the urban platform.
Despite watching the world roll by on the long train ride, Isaac still couldn’t believe the mighty mountains of the west and the towering sky-scrapers of Chicago could all be part of the same country. It just wasn’t right for an American to feel so uncomfortable in his own nation.
Isaac tried to ignore his discomfort as he hoisted his saddle bags onto his shoulders and followed the flow of the crowd toward the exit. Once on the streets, Isaac tried to find a hotel where he might rent a room, but quickly became lost. Finally, he stumbled upon the Leland Hotel and marched into the foyer. Immediately, Isaac felt even more out of place as his cowboy boots pounded against the marble flooring.
The workers eyed him with suspicion as he wandered up to the desk.
“One room, please,” he said, trying to use the charm his father had given him.
“I’m afraid we are full, sir,” said the manicured attendant standing on the other side of the desk.
Isaac glanced back at the deserted lobby before reaching into his pocket. Though most of his wealth was hidden in the bottom compartments of his saddlebags, he kept a few hundred greenbacks tucked in his pockets and boots, just in case. He withdrew three twenty dollar bills and laid them out on the desk. It was double, if not triple, what the hotel charged for a few nights stay.
“I won’t make no scene, sir,” he said in a low tone, “iffen you give me a room, but I reckon I’ll embarrass the lot o’ you iffen you turn me away.”
The worker chewed on his lip for a moment before retrieving Isaac’s money. Isaac felt silly wasting the money of a stuffed-up turd of a hotel, but he was in no mood to go wandering around the city in hopes of finding a more accommodating saloon. If he had his way, he wouldn’t be staying long. All he had to do was unload his booty and he would be on the train back to Montana.
In the last couple months, Isaac and his diseased partner had had a string of good luck, knocking off a few wealthy trains. Much to their chagrin, they had found half the wealth on the trains to be jewelry rather than gold coins, and, much to Isaac’s disgust, his partner had the nerve to die before they could figure out how to rid themselves of the jewels.
Therefore, Isaac sent himself off to Chicago, the nearest metropolis, to sell the gems.
A bellhop kindly guided Isaac up to his room. Isaac tipped the boy and closed the door, flipping the lock as soon as he could. Just to ease his paranoia, Isaac closed the curtains and examined the contents of his saddle bags. The jewelry remained hidden under his change of clothing.
Isaac decided to nap before the arduous nightly task of finding a buyer for the gems. He had learned a few names that might help him find buyers. First, though, he would have to find these people within the maze of this foreign city.
Once the sun had set, Isaac pocketed a few of the diamond necklaces, hid the other bits of jewelry under his mattress, and left the stuffy hotel. A few hours into the fruitless search, Isaac stumbled down a deserted street lined with towering four and five story buildings. Isaac looked up, noticing the numerous boarded up windows and shutters hanging off their hinges.
Though some might have found the street rather unnerving, Isaac had been in worse situations. As he sauntered down the street he recalled an occasion where he had been on the wrong side of a three-against-one bar fight. He had walked away with a broken nose, a few bruises, and a chipped tooth. The other men, though, had eaten their food in liquid form for a month.
Isaac smiled at the thought until suddenly a group of four odd-looking men jumped out from behind a broken-down cart. Quickly Isaac saw what made them look so bizarre. Two of their front teeth were unusually long and pointed. Though Isaac wasn’t what one would call a learned man, he had heard of vampires. He also had been
taught not to fear another creature. Isaac increased his smile, showing just how unconcerned he was with their presence, despite the wealth tucked into his pockets.
“Normal people start screaming ‘bout now,” commented one of the vampire-vagabonds before adjusting his bowler hat.
“I’m not normal people,” replied Isaac.
“Well, we’ll teach ya to be afraid, all the same.”
“Doubt it,” said Isaac as he adjusted his weight to the balls of his feet, ready for their first move.
“Hold up, Morris,” said one of the quieter vampires. “You know who this is?”
“Should I?” asked Morris, the spokesman for the vampires.
“Aye. This be Isaac Wilson. I recognize him from his wanted posters,” said the quieter vampire.
Isaac smirked, amused to find himself recognized by a Chicago villain of the night. An inkling of an idea began to take place in his mind.
“You boys plannin’ on killin’ me or robbin’ me?” asked Isaac, pulling the attention back on himself.
“Can’t we do both?” asked Morris.
“You could. But if you do, you won’t have the chance to learn from the great Isaac Wilson.”
Isaac watched as the four men glanced at each other, considering his offer. Isaac was without a crew and, while he had something to offer them, they had something to offer him. The idea of staying young and strong forever was appealing to the professional thief.
“I’m sure you be wantin’ something, Mr. Wilson,” said the quiet vampire.
“Aye. Make me like you, and I’ll bring you into the big game,” offered Isaac as he pulled out just one of the diamond necklaces from his pockets.
He knew he was taking a risk showing them a small portion of the wealth currently on his person, but he hoped their greed would make them want more than just the few bobbles he had with him.
“With me, boys, you can be pickin’ off more’n the idiot caught out at night. With me, we’ll take down trains, coaches, heiress’ alike.”
The other four men smiled, their pointed teeth showing through.
“You better do it, Jimmy,” said Morris, nodding toward the quieter man.