CHAPTER 1
Life is full of irrefutable truths.
Truths that you can’t ignore. Truths that you can’t escape. And truth is the greatest weapon life has to offer. ere were many truths in my life up to that point, and many that would follow thereafter, but none were as painful as the truth I now knew.
e truth that Knight was alive.
I’d gone for an entire year believing that the Lycans executed him, but not knowing for sure if they had. I’d moved on as much as a vampire possibly could from losing someone they love. e evidence of me trying to forget him was currently cuddled in her father’s arms.
My newborn vampire-Incubus hybrid.
She looked like a vampire in every way possible, and if it hadn’t already spread around the entire Order what she was, they could’ve easily been convinced she was an ordinary Born vampire baby. Except that she wasn’t. Unlike regular vampire babies, my daughter drank vampire blood.
Fresh from giving birth not even an hour before, I don’t know how I got through that summit with the Lycan Alphas.
Balthazar held the tiny bundle our newborn daughter was wrapped in, and I had to resist turning towards her when she made even the smallest sound. ey were standing on my right from my seat at the Council half circle desk. In front of me stood the Alphas from all the North American packs. Knight stood on the left of their ranks. I was making painstaking efforts to not look in his direction, but I could feel his eyes on me.
I knew he hated me. How could he not? I betrayed him. I had a child with another man when I promised in my heart to love Knight forever. I’d never said the word love to him, but I’d felt it and that was the same thing.
My brief glimpse of him when I entered the room had been sufficient to at least see how he was doing. His hair was longer, starting to curl past his neck, and he was wearing the exact out t I’d conjured for him in my delusions several weeks ago: a faded brown and white plaid shirt with blue jeans, though he was not barefoot like he had been in my fantasy, he was wearing black boots. I tried not to think about how accurate I’d been in his appearance. It was probably just a coincidence.
“ e summit will come to order,” Castilla said suddenly, making me jump in my seat.
One of the council members, Estinien, if I remembered correctly, and of course I did, stood up. He looked older, like Othello had, with thin aged skin and wrinkles to emphasize his frown. He was also one of the three Council members that hadn’t voted in favor of this meeting. “I want it known that I do not condone this meeting. Lycans are our enemies.”
“ e vote to bring them here passed, Estinien,” Castilla pointed out smoothly.
“ at’s because she,” he pointed his long gnarled nger in my direction, “said we would die without their help. Poppycock.”
Defending myself would have gotten me nowhere, since it was clear he, and probably others, would gladly turn on me in my inexperience.
One of the other old men, addeus, spoke up. “Have you forgotten what happened at Gennadi?” His accented voice was shaky, and he appeared older than anyone else there, and not just because he looked ancient. Knowing what I knew about what Anastasia had done, however, he couldn’t have been much older than the rest of the Council, he just looked it.
No one else objected after that, so addeus nodded in my direction for me to begin. Wait, me leading? Since when was I spearheading this thing? I had just had a baby, for crying out loud. I glanced at Castilla, and she con rmed it with a nod and a smile. Great. Of all the meetings I had to oversee, it had to be the one with my ex-boyfriend in the room. Ex. Was he
my ex? We were never officially a couple. Could he still be my ex if we hadn’t been official?
Sigh.
I stood up and buttoned the button on my jacket in an official manner meant to make me look cooler and more business-like. I felt like old Lisbeth, the one who had never met Knight, and only cared about objects and looking pretty. Maybe it was the fact that I was dressing like her again, in designer dresses and kitten heels.
“Welcome, our esteemed guests. We appreciate you honoring our truce and taking the time to come here to discuss terms of an alliance between our two species.”
Don’t look at Knight. Don’t look at Knight.
A short gangly Alpha wearing an unbuttoned black vest spoke rst. “We wouldn’t have come if Alexander and Jesse hadn’t spoken for you. ” He glanced to the side of the group I wasn’t going to look at. “And that one too.”
Meaning Knight.
“ is circumstance goes beyond personal feelings, and I’m glad that everyone understands that.” Mr. Black Vest didn’t look quite as agreeable as I was making him out to be, but he stopped complaining at least. “I trust you were all briefed on the situation?”
“We have some questions,” Jesse said with a respectful nod.
“Of course. Feel free to ask anything you need to know.”
Please ask something easy, like how many vampires were left, did the kitchen have a Keurig, or what our strategy was. We had a strategy, right?
“How did this happen?”
Pickle sticks.
I rolled it around in my head, all the diplomatic answers that I would be expected to say so the situation didn’t seem as bad as it actually was, except
the Lycans were, or had been, our enemies. If we lied to them, they wouldn’t trust us, and the alliance would be over before it began.
I sighed. “I’m going to be honest. is happened because turned vampires felt like they were being treated as inferiors to Born vampires.” e whispers that followed indicated my fellow Council members were not pleased I was being so candid.
“What sparked the dissention?” Jesse probed. is was the Spanish inquisition all over again.
“We held an execution for some turned vampires who killed one of our companions. Our laws about killing humans are slightly lax, so naturally they were outraged. And to answer your next question, it’s because I broke a different law that I wasn’t executed for, and that law is vastly more speci c than the one about killing humans.”
“ is war started because of what you did for Simon,” Alexander said, his face falling. “Your people were slaughtered.” ough I expected some comments from others at the desk around me, blaming me for it all, they were silent.
“Do you blame us?” Alexander asked the rest of the Council. “Or her?”
“No,” Castilla spoke up. “ is was never about her. From what we ’ ve learned, the turned have been planning this for a very long time. Lisbeth was simply in the line of re.”
“And now, you want to align yourselves with your enemies, to save yourself from an army that you created,” said the vest Lycan.
I took a deep measured breath. “ e turned will destroy us. ey have thousands in their ranks, and they hate Lycans as much as they hate Born vampires. When they’re nished with us, they might turn on you too.”
“Might,” the vest Lycan pointed out.
“Are you willing to take that chance?” Alexander asked him.
“Even if we weren’t facing annihilation at their hands, the turned have no respect for humans,” Castilla continued. “ ey took our companions as
their slaves, and I promise you those humans will beg for death before their new masters are nished with them.” From the reactions around the table, I could tell she’d kept this a secret, since even I hadn’t known. “We couldn’t protect them.” She was on the verge of weeping, and took a drink of water to hide it. “ e turned are not interested in staying secret from humans, or treating them with respect and civility. ey will raze the human world to the ground if they have no one to stop them, and we are all that stands in their way. ”
“You said they had thousands,” Knight said, nally speaking, his clear deep voice sparking a shiver up my spine. Don’t look, don’t look. “ e packs in North America don’t have nearly enough wolves for that.”
“ ere are packs all over the world. If we align with as many as we can, we will have the numbers,” Castilla answered.
My daughter squealed and I couldn’t stop myself from looking in her direction to make sure she was okay, only Balthazar had moved, and when I looked in the direction the noise had come from, I was staring straight into Knight’s eyes.
Balthazar, I hate you.
CHAPTER 2
“Ready?” Olivier asked me. We stood under the shade of a tree in the woods behind our castle. She had rushed back home after hearing I’d gone into labor, and just barely managed to miss the summit, which I knew was on purpose.
e summit was long over, but we were far from nished with the alliance talks. It was nice to see Lycans and vampires banding together. I was surprised they hadn’t been more difficult about joining their enemies. I suspected the three Alphas I had a connection to had argued our case for us, and we owed this complicity to them.
I still cried after the summit was over. I grabbed my daughter from Balthazar as soon as they said, ‘farewell, catch you later,’ and ran out of the bigger drawing room. I almost brushed Knight’s sleeve I think. It smelled like him. at made me run faster, down the hallway and up the stairs, until I was safe inside my suite. Slamming the door startled my birds, and they uttered around in their cage trying to calm down.
I placed my baby inside her crib in her perfect little nursery, where she instantly fell asleep. I found the nearest corner in my living room and stood in it with my nose pressed to the wall.
Knight wasn’t dead. He was still alive and breathing, and being the perfection that was him. He wasn’t cold and pale inside the ground, forever a scar in my heart, one that would never be healed. Yes, even with him alive we’d never be together, but knowing he wasn’t dead would be worth the pain. I could burn a candle for him forever providing he was still alive and happy.
I was wet and boogery when Arthur came into the room. I sobbed a few more times before I turned around. I couldn’t see who it was through the
tears in my eyes, but I could smell him. He walked closer and handed me a box of tissues, which I used liberally on my face.
“He’s in the hallway,” Arthur told me. I started crying again. “Stop crying, I won’t let him in unless you tell me to.”Which I would never do.
On my orders, all but one of the Alphas had gone to stay with Alexander’s pack, and would return as needed. e one that was still here was, of course, Knight. After crying like a snotty baby, I’d been avoiding him as much as possible, but even I knew it wouldn’t last. I’d have to talk to him eventually, and I wasn’t looking forward to it.
Oh, you said you loved me and then you got knocked up? Fancy. Laters, fang lady.
Knight would totally say fang lady. Or something offensive, if he was feeling cranky. When he nally cornered me, I doubted I could relay any of his rant because it would probably all be swear words.
Which brings us here, 21 hours later, standing under a tree with Olivier. Balthazar was already gone again, leaving me to care for our daughter by myself. I couldn’t say that I was surprised, but I was more than a little disappointed. I hoped one day he would stop leaving me and stay nearby forever, mostly because I could use some friendship right about now, what with my not-dead ex-boyfriend here.
Now wasn’t the time to think about him. Bundled in my arms, dressed in a long white dress, was my daughter. Her wispy black curls waved playfully, and she twisted in my arms as she slept. She was exactly 21 hours old, and it was time for her vampire christening, where I would promise to raise her to uphold vampiric law, and announce to everyone what her name would be.
I’d already delayed leaving our secluded spot for as long as possible, changing my daughter’s diaper twice when she wasn’t dirty, and then feeding her, burping her, trying to make her fall asleep again. After ten
minutes, Olivier stopped pretending to check her phone and slipped it into her pocket.
“You have to face him sometime,” she said quietly.
No, I didn’t have to, and even if Knight was using the alliance meetings as an excuse to stay here, eventually this thing with the turned would end and he would have to leave, and then my life would continue. He’ll go off and become a fruit picker, and marry… the thought of him marrying someone else left a bad taste in my mouth. Okay, ne. He’ll marry some chick who loves his jokes and would never cheat on him, like his loser exgirlfriend. He’ll lie awake at night thinking about how much he hates me while his arm is wrapped around a curvy girl who drinks kale shakes. Nah. He’d never marry someone who couldn’t appreciate a good cheeseburger. e important part is he’ll move on and nd someone better than me. Just kidding, there’s no one better than me. He’ll nd the second-best girl for him. And he’ll be happy. Just like I’ll be happy, raising my daughter alone.
Olivier checked her wrist watch. “We can’t be late. e ceremony is very time speci c.”
I adjusted my daughter’s blanket, kissed her pale little head, and set her diaper bag underneath the tree. “Let’s go. ”
Vampire christenings used to be incredibly superstitious. Every part of the ceremony involved exposing the baby vampire to everything that supposedly hurt or killed vampires, in an attempt to appease whatever forces gave us immunity to all of them, so we could continue to see our re ections in mirrors, and use wooden furniture. We liked to change with the times while still honoring past traditions, so the christenings we practiced now were more symbolic.
e ceremony starts with the parents, or parent in this instance, and godparent carrying the baby over a bridge that crossed running water. Our property had one such place that we made sure would be close by for christenings. en, a holy man or woman, which in this case was Castilla,
who was apparently a holy woman in Spain, says some pretty words before placing three things over the baby’s wrapped body.
A wooden cross.
A silver rattle.
An amulet lled with the blood of their parents.
After that, the parents promise to instruct their child in the vampiric laws and customs, and then their Order promises the same. e godparent promises to care for the child like their own in the event its parents are no longer there.
I couldn’t help but wonder, as I held my daughter in my arms, who my godparent had been at my ceremony. Had I even had a ceremony? I certainly didn’t have the blood amulet, or the cross and silver rattle, because all three are supposed to be in the child’s room as it grows up. Maybe I hadn’t been christened. What did that mean though? Was I not… sanctioned? Maybe I shouldn’t be allowed to be leader if I wasn’t christened. Othello would probably know if I had been. Maybe. It could be an orphan thing. Maybe orphans weren’t christened, and it was ne because they didn’t have parents to raise them. I still felt sad, like there was an elite club I’d never been a member of.
After all the pomp and circumstance, the parents would speak the baby’s name out loud for the rst time, forever welcoming their baby to the world.
Katherine. My daughter’s name was Katherine. Kitty for short. We were a family with nicknames.
Kitty woke up mid-ceremony and wailed aloud because she had objects on her that she didn’t approve of. Olivier grabbed them so I could hold Kitty to my shoulder. I patted her and she stopped crying instantly. Some of the crowd cooed and made baby noises of appreciation for her cuteness, while the others stared at her like at any moment she was going to jump on them and drain them dry. To the naked eye, all they saw was the rst baby
they’d seen in 15 years, and she was pretty damn cute, if I do say so myself, except this adorbs baby would probably bite them if she got hungry.
e only person not cooing at or freaking out over Kitty was standing away from the crowd, giving us a very mournful look that had a puppyesque feel to it. Damn it, Knight. I’m sure you have better things to do than look pathetic. He was adorable when he looked pathetic.
I stared at him for too long, and he took it as encouragement to walk over to me. Not everyone had come to the ceremony, so Arthur had stayed behind to watch over the other members of the Council. Olivier was in charge of my safety with him gone, and she stepped in front of me when Knight got within spitting distance.
“Back it up, partner,” she ordered, icking her nger in the opposite direction. I couldn’t look him in the face. I focused on the plaid pattern of his shirt, the one from my delusions.
“I just want to talk to her,” he told Olivier. His voice sent a line of tingles up my spine, and a responding shot of guilt turned my stomach.
Olivier stepped closer to him and icked her hands out to extend her claws. “She doesn’t want to talk to you, mutt.”
I waited for him to complain about her using the word ‘mutt’, but he didn’t say anything. He just stood there with that puppy face of his, staring at me. Taking a few steps and falling into his sturdy warm arms would’ve been the greatest pleasure in the world, but I didn’t deserve that anymore.
“Olivier, back,” I ordered. She stepped away from him and relaxed her battle stance. I met Knight’s deep brown eyes and my inner turmoil rose at the sight of them. It was nice to see his face. Like a painting you hang on the wall and admire, but never touch.
Kitty fussed in my arms. It took little effort to comfort her, but when I looked up, Knight had come close enough to touch me. I recoiled away from him and Olivier took her place between us with her claws out again.
“Let’s go, ” I told Olivier, and we left him standing beside the babbling river.
A week passed, and I was still rattled at having Knight nearby. He spent most of his time at the reservation, but found any and every opportunity to come to the castle. He’d be gone soon, I had to keep reminding myself. He’d leave, and then I could continue my life. My empty lonely life where the only drop of sunshine was my tiny Kitty. I’d never be happy, not really, but at least I’d have her.
ere was also the work. I had plenty of that to keep me company. Arthur entered the room not ve minutes after I’d come in, carrying another stack of papers, this one thankfully much thinner than usual. He set it in front of me and automatically glanced over to where Kitty slept in her bassinette by my desk.
“More legal things?” I asked him, ipping over the rst page and inspecting it.
“ e legal department is working on terms of the alliance. is is the rst draft. We’ll present it at the next summit.” Next. Meaning there’d be more after that one. Negotiating was so much fun. “ is one will be at the reservation.”
I couldn’t help raising my eyebrows at him. “ at sounds risky. What will the security be like?”
“I’ll be there to protect the delegate. e werewolf has also volunteered.” at must’ve been a hard sell with Arthur, but it did make me pause. ere would be only one reason why Knight would volunteer to protect a delegate.
“Whom did they choose?” I asked cautiously.
“Page 5,” he said with a gesture to the papers. I ipped to the proper page and scanned it to nd my name amongst all the legal jargon.
“ ey do realize I just had a baby, right? Literally last week. Me. Baby. Had.”
He shrugged apathetically in the typical Arthur fashion. “You’re the only one who can make sure this happens. And even if I don’t believe that this is the best course of action-” I glared at him. “-it’s still a viable solution if executed properly.”
“Assuming I don’t wind up as Lycan breakfast,” I muttered.
“ e werewolf won’t let that happen,” Arthur said, making me raise my eyebrows.
“I’m surprised you ’ re suddenly trusting a werewolf enough to say something like that.”
“I don’t trust anyone, ” he stated plainly. “I’m merely stating that he, like you, clearly values this alliance. It won’t happen if you ’ re dead.” He had a point. “Plus he’s still carrying around a torch for you. at helps too. Only regarding your safety, mind you. ”
“Yes, well… we ’ re not a thing. And he means nothing to me. And this is the last time we ever talk about my love life.”
“Ever,” he con rmed.
I signed the papers quickly so he would leave in the awkward silence that followed. I leaned back in my chair and took a deep measured breath. I had several problems to deal with. e alliance, the turned, my ex-boyfriend, a newborn baby, James (the guy who tortured me) was in my house, absent baby daddy, but it only seemed fair to add something new to the mix. I didn’t have a companion anymore, and especially with the double loss of blood with Kitty drinking from me, I was in dire need of one. For the moment, I was drinking bagged blood, like old times. It wouldn’t last, and I would need a solution soon.
I glanced over at Kitty and there was a timid knock at the door. After being given permission to enter, Sara walked in.
CHAPTER 3
e Sara that stood before me was different. She wasn’t sporting that edge of eccentric I’d come to love. Her makeup had always been either subdued or over the top, and now she had smoky eyes and deep rouged lips. Her clothes were fashionable and attractive, no more haphazard robes or kitten patterned pants. Her smile was also different when it was directed at me. It was as if she knew exactly how bad I felt towards her, instead of holding a grudge against me, which would’ve been perfectly acceptable given the circumstances. In fact, I quite expected it.
“I don’t hate you, ” she opened. Was she trying to spare my feelings?
I swallowed and focused on one of the various paintings on the wall. Some rich dude with a foxhound and a codpiece. Gross. “You should,” I said back. “I betrayed everything I believe in when I mistreated you. ” My eyes fell to the dark green carpet around her shoes. “I’ve been lashing out at anyone who dared misuse a human because I dishonored you. And I didn’t even bother feeling bad about it, even after I was gone. I was too caught up in my own crap to remember, oh hey, that human that was nice to you? You made her a slave.” I wiped a hand over my cheeks. “I’m no better than James.”
She laughed at me. Loudly, in a very ironic fashion.
“You? As bad as that manipulative egotistical pig head?” She snorted several times behind her hand.
“Isn’t he your boyfriend?” I pointed out. Not that I cared about hurting her boyfriend’s feelings.
She snorted again. “He’s still a manipulative egotistical pig head. Me dating him won’t change that.”
“You and him, that’s kind of…” I wiggled my hand around.
“You’re dating a werewolf. Knowing vampires as I do, they nd that miles more repulsive than human and vampire relations.”
“We’re not dating,” I told her. She looked only mildly surprised, as if she was further on in my story than I was, and didn’t realize I hadn’t caught up to her yet. “You came here for something?” I asked, before she could be the third person to lecture me about Knight before lunch.
“I just wanted to make sure we were okay. And James is ready at any time to continue talking about the book you have. I know you ’ re busy with other things, so don’t feel rushed. We have rooms, we’ll stay as long as we need to.”
Of course James’s status meant he could live here if he wanted to, especially since he wasn’t blood binging anymore. I shuddered to think of how it would be if he decided to stay. Seeing his face every day, this time in my home. His crystal grey eyes would haunt me everywhere I went. Even worse, Drake had the same eyes as his father, so I’d be doubly haunted.
“I promise we ’ re not staying,” Sara said softly. She was suddenly close enough to put her hand on my arm. “James understands you ’ re still dealing with the trauma, and believe me he wishes he could take it all back.”
I looked down. “It won’t make it go away. ”
“No,” she said. “But you ’ re stronger now. You have Kitty to protect. ere’s nothing that makes a woman stronger than being a mom. ”
I was used to the illusion of a sleepless infant, wailing at all hours of the day and night, constant spit-ups and refusal to be comforted. In the few short weeks of her life, Kitty only cried if I pulled away before she was nished drinking my blood. Anything else was a quick simpering howl until I noticed her distress of a wet diaper or wanting to be held.
She sucked her thumb as she slept in her crib, the epitome of a sleeping angel. I loved her, and wanted to stay by her side all day every day, but I was
hungry from feeding her again. Grabbing the baby monitor, I switched both units on, and closed her door behind me.
Olivier sat on the couch in my living room reading a book. With me working during the day, it was her job to protect Kitty. Everyone was still wary around her, and Olivier was the only one I trusted with my daughter’s safety. I left her on the couch and went downstairs.
After grabbing a bag of blood from the kitchen, I made my way to my office. Marie sat at her desk writing on a notepad, but she stood up when I walked into the hallway.
“Lisbeth, you have a visitor. I showed them into your office,” she said.
I scowled at her. “Marie, you ’ re not supposed to let people into my office if I’m not present. Arthur made the security protocols very clear about that.”
“Well,” she said, biting her lip. “He’s there too. He brought the visitor.”
I marched into my office expecting an intervention, or something involving Knight. e last thing I expected was Arthur leaning against my desk and James standing next to him playing with my dagger letter opener. ey both straightened up and looked like guilty children under the pointing glare of my scowl. I shut the door on Marie and locked it.
“Arthur.”
“Yes,” he responded, feeling no guilt whatsoever for this.
“Why is James here? In my office. Playing with my letter opener. ” James set the knife down carefully when he noticed my scowl directed at him.
“I want him out of this castle,” Arthur explained.
“No offense taken,” James offered happily.
Arthur curled his lip. “All the offense.” James made an ‘okay’ motion. “I don’t want him here any longer. He’s a blood binger-”
“Former,” James quipped.
I thought Arthur’s tendons would pop from the st he was making where James couldn’t see. “I only allowed him here because you asked me to
overlook his crimes. I request you nish your business with him and allow me to remove him from the house.”
“Again, not offended.” James smiled at me in a way that reminded me of my previous encounters with him. I felt my spine start crawling and my stomach churned against my will. “Lovely to see you again, Lisbeth. You’re looking well. Sticking to the black and white color scheme still I see. I quite preferred you in purple, if you do recall.” Before my feelings of revulsion could escalate further, the barest of bare sounds came from the baby monitor, and I remembered what Sara said about my daughter giving me strength.
“James, stuff it. is isn’t a party, and I’m not your subordinate anymore. I am the highest-ranking vampire in this Order, and you will be respectful.” He raised his eyebrows, but stayed silent. “And as for you, Arthur. You will cease to make decisions for me immediately. I know James is awful, but I will choose when to speak to someone. ”
“I hate to interject,” James slid in. I doubted that. “I’m sure Arthur would be more than happy to oblige you, if hating me were his only motive in this meeting.”
“Pardon?”
He glanced in Arthur’s direction, since Arthur wouldn’t meet his eyes. “Tell her.” Arthur worked his jaw for a few seconds, and James took that as an opportunity to take over. “You see, my liege, you might be the highestranking vampire in our Order, but you are not the oldest.” I felt my stomach plummet again. “You assumed power when Othello was taken simply because I was not there, and should anything happen to you while I am at the Order…” He ipped his hand out towards me.
“You would take over the Order,” I nished. Arthur met my eyes nally, trying to silently tell me just how much he absolutely did not want to take orders from James. “Could you take my place, James? If you demanded it?”
“No,” he admitted with a smile. “It doesn’t work like that, the vampires who made the rules saw to it. ey had no wish for power grabs or assassinations. You keep your position until you are either dead, missing, or the previous leader is t to lead again. It’s just as well, because you have nothing to fear from me. I have no desire to rule our kind. I feel those days are behind me. ”
“I’d still like the possibility removed,” Arthur added.
I nodded to him. “I retract my comments about putting you in the stocks for insubordination.”
“You never said that.”
“Really? Hmm. Could’ve sworn I did.” I walked around my desk and unlocked the drawer with Anastasia’s journal. “Arthur, you may leave us. Don’t talk back. Out, please.”
His st curled up again, but he nodded and left the room.
James turned to me and smiled. “Well, Lisbeth. We are alone.”
“I said be professional,” I reminded James with a blank stare. “I preferred your attitude when you rst arrived. Quiet. Repentant. Serious. Mostly quiet.”
“Yes, I recall. And I shall endeavor to be all three.” I slipped the book out from the drawer and stood it up on my desk. His face brightened at the sight of it. “Ahh, my journal. e recount of the wrath of Anastasia. e forbidden words forever-”
“Yes. It’s your journal, stop being so dramatic.” He pursed his lips at me. “ e conversation we are about to have is con dential and private to the upmost extreme. You speak of this to any living soul, and I will execute you on the spot.”
His smile faded, and he grew serious. “You’ve changed quite a bit, my liege. I understand the need for secrecy. No one will hear your words from me, I swear on my life’s blood.”
I relaxed against my chair. “‘Have you ever wondered why there are so few older Born?’ at’s what you asked me in one of our rst conversations. en you preceded to tell me that no one really knew why that is, and what I thought on the matter, all before I told you it was something my Order had taught me not to discuss. Do you recall this conversation?”
“Of course I do, don’t insult me. ”
“And yet, I nd you ’ ve written the only account of what really happened to vampires, and why there are so few of us left.”
He pointed to the book. “You also read that I was sworn to secrecy. I was curious what you knew, and that meant being very careful about what I said to you. ”
“Fair enough,” I conceded. “Your account of Anastasia’s life was most interesting to me. Not for the reason one might think, as I have no signi cant curiosity for the history of our kind, at least not to the degree of needing your input.” I stood up and took the journal with me. “I discovered your journal when I was expecting my daughter. I had some… reservations about her.”
“ e vampire child who drinks vampire blood,” he said quietly. “Everyone is afraid of her. Of what she will become.”
“And none more so than me. ” My ngernail tapped against the book. “My daughter is only part vampire. e other half is Incubus.”
“You lay with an Incubus?” James looked shocked, but more like I’d made friends with a unicorn than simply shared a night with my oldest friend. “And that is why your daughter drinks vampire blood. Such a thing is…unheard of.”
“You had a child with a human,” I reminded him. “I’d never heard of a living dhampir before. I mean, there’s human lore of it to be sure, but it’s never been seen among us. I didn’t even think it was possible.”
“ ere might be history of the dhampir, but is no lore of a vampire and Incubus child. Not to my knowledge.”
I shook my head. “Nor mine. at is why your book intrigued me so. You mentioned in your account that Anastasia was different than other vampires. She had a power over her peers that you could not explain, and there were mysterious circumstances surrounding her birth. Did you ever see her drinking another vampire’s blood like my daughter does?” I waited for his answer in hope that all my fears had no foundation, that I had been worried for nothing.
He debated for several moments, pulling back his old memories of a time long passed. When he looked up to meet my eyes, I saw the answer, and it was not the one I wanted. “Yes. I saw her drink vampire blood many times.” He went back into his mind to search for more memories. “Now that I am presented with the option, I cannot in all honesty discount the possibility that she was not fully vampire.”
My legs started to shake. I steadied myself on my desk. “My daughter could end up like her. She could be the next destruction of our species, if the turned vampires don’t nish us off rst.”
“You don’t know what she was. I said I couldn’t discount the possibility, I didn’t say I was positive she was part Incubus. And even if she was, there is no way to prove it now. She’s been gone for four hundred years. ”
“Is she dead?” I probed. “Did you see her body? Was there chanting in the streets in celebration of her passing?”
“She was presumed dead, but it was never con rmed. I tried for decades to nd her again, I swear this to you. If she is alive, and I mean if. Finding her will be next to impossible.”
“No, I won’t accept that answer. ere has to be something, someone, who has seen her.” I hoisted my hip onto my desk to think. I would not give up on my daughter.
“ ere…” James started. He stopped himself and pressed his lips together, but my hopes had risen already.
“Say it. Please?”
“ ere is only one thing we can do. Hand me the journal, please.” He took it from me and immediately ripped the binding off. I dove to stop him, but he held out his hand. Hidden inside the cloth outer layer and the hard inner layer of the binding was a folded piece of paper. He handed the journal and the destroyed cover back to me.
“I hope that was worth it,” I complained. e paper unfolded to reveal a small piece of blood-stained cloth. “What is that?”
“ is,” he said with a smile. “Is stained with the blood of the only vampire who ever mattered to Anastasia Bathory.”
“A blood-stained cloth.”
“Yes.”
“And that will help us nd Anastasia? And by ‘ us ’ I mean me, don’t get ideas.”
“Yes,” James repeated. “Presuming he is not dead. But nding him requires an extra component.”
“Do not say magic. Or the light of a full moon. I will slap you. ”
He rolled his eyes at me. “No, don’t be ridiculous. Magic isn’t real. is requires something I didn’t have when I was trying to nd the vampire that the blood belongs to. I tried doing it on my own, it’s how I started blood binging. I gured enough human blood in my system would allow me the power to track any scent of blood. Sadly, I had no idea that that wasn’t something a blood binge would give me, and by the time I gured that out I was too far into the binge to even care. I left Europe and I never searched for Anastasia again.”
“Is the component a dhampir? Is that why you had a child with a human?”
“Believe it or not, I had a child with Sara because I love her. I know that sounds contradictory, considering our history, but it’s the truth.”
“Just tell me what the thing is, I’m not incredibly interested in your love life.”
He glared at me, but his smile came back on cue. “ e component is a werewolf. Your lover should suffice.”
“He’s not my lover.”
“Details,” James said with a wave of his hand. “A Lycan cannot track blood older than a few years. Werewolves on the other hand can track any scent of any age. Your lover is the last of his kind, and I suspect there will never be another. If he dies, you will never be able to track the vampire you need.”
“ en I’ll make sure he doesn’t die,” I assured him. Not that I was planning on him dying, or anything. Quite the opposite.
“ en I suggest you do this before any kind of battle with the turned takes place. I can assure you, no matter what you might say about the werewolf, if there is a choice between your life and his, he will choose you, and the battle to come will not be without casualties.”
“I can’t exactly run off to Zanzibar right now. ”
“His last recorded residence was in Italy. You can start from there. His name is Lucas.”
“Lucas?” I asked.
James handed me the cloth wrapped in its paper sleeve again. “Lucas.”
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In the midst of his speech he saw another man come swiftly out of a dark alley on the left, and caught sight of an object coming swiftly toward him. Then the missile struck him on the side of the head, and he fell to the pavement with a low moan of pain.
“Well done, Bill,” declared Sawyer. “Now, I will pull the old sheep’s wool in a trice, after which we must run down the precocious youngsters who have cheated us of a goodly share of our goods.”
The process of “pulling the old sheep’s wool” was evidently the stealing of the unconscious man’s pocketbook, for the speaker began to rifle him of whatever he carried of value. But he was interrupted in a most unexpected manner.
At the very moment his fingers closed on the well-filled wallet, an agile figure bounded out of the shadows of the alley, striking the stooping form of the robber with such force as to send him headlong into the gutter, the newcomer crying at the same time:
“The cop! The cop!”
This so startled the second ruffian that he turned and fled, while robber No. 1 scrambled to his feet just in season to see the boy who had given him such a blow seize the plethoric pocketbook and disappear around a corner.
“Stop thief!” cried the would-be robber. “Bill, where are you? Stop the youngster!”
The twain then gave furious pursuit.
While this chase was taking place, a passer-by was attracted by the prostrate figure of Deacon Cornhill, and thinking murder had been committed, he was about to give an alarm, when a voice at his elbow said:
“Don’t stir a noise, Jim.”
Looking abruptly around, the man was surprised to find the young bootblack beside him whom Deacon Cornhill had met at the outset of his troubles, and who was none other than the boy who had snatched his pocketbook away from the thief. He had found little difficulty in eluding his pursuers.
“’Twon’t do any good to get a mob here. I’ll look arter the old gent, if you’ll help me get him to Brattle’s.”
“This you, Little Hickory?”
“I reckon, Jim. Does the old gent show any signs of picking up the leetle sense he had?” and depositing his kit of tools, with the other’s gripsack, on the sidewalk, he looked closely into his face.
“’Twas a hard clip the sandbagger give him! I could not have got here—— Hello! He’s starting his breathing machine. He’s soon going to be on his feet. So’ll the mob soon begin to corner here. Lend a hand, Jim, and we’ll see if he can stand alone.”
Curious spectators were beginning to gather near at hand, and the unfortunate man beginning to open his eyes, his friends raised him to an upright position, where, by their aid, he was able to remain.
“Mandy, where are you?” he asked, putting out his hands. “I vum, I b’lieve I’m lost!”
“Lean on me, old gent,” said the boy, “and you’ll soon be where you can ask as many questions as ye like. Just now, the least said the sooner forgot. I wouldn’t ’vise you to call all New York together Ef I’d got sich a biff on my head in sich a silly way, I’d hold my tongue, if I had to tie a knot in it. Easy on his collar, Jim. Lean on me, old gent, as much as you wanter.”
“My money!” exclaimed the bewildered man, now recalling his loss with a vivid memory.
“Ef it’s in your wallet, it’s safe; fer I’ve got that and yer handbag safe and sound.”
Deacon Cornhill uttered a low thanksgiving, and assisted by the two he moved slowly down the street, until they came to a cheap lodging house, with the single word over the weather-beaten door: “Brattle.”
The entrance was about half its size below the sidewalk, and they descended the old steps, which trembled beneath the weight of Deacon Cornhill. At the foot Little Hickory opened a door in keeping with its rusty surroundings, and the three entered a dingy, low-walled
apartment, with a desk at the farther end and a row of seats around the walls.
“You can go now, Jim,” said the young bootblack.
“That you, Rob?” asked a man behind the desk, leaving his high stool and coming out into the middle of the floor.
“I leave it with you, Brattle, to say. A body, as far as I know, is not expected to carry an introduce card pasted in his collar I can take care of the old gent, thank you.”
“Been drinking, eh?” asked Brattle.
“Now you insult a good man, Brattle. He got a clip on the side of the head from some sandbaggers, that’s all. He’s coming ’round slick as a button. You can tip over on the seat, old gent, if you wanter,” when Deacon Cornhill sank upon the bench, saying:
“You said you had my money?”
“What I said you can bank on, as the big boodlers say, I reckon you don’t remember me, so I must introduce myself. I’m the chap who asked to black your boots a bit ago, and in return you asked me for a place to hang your hat for the night. Mebbe I didn’t answer you as I oughter, for your boots did need trimming and shining the wuss kind, and I set you down as a stingy old duffer from Wayback, who didn’t know what made a gempleman. Then, when you had gone, and I took ’count of stock and balanced up what a lamb you would be for the wolves, and seeing one of the critters follering you, I tuk your tracks, too. I got along in season to see the kids make off with your grip, when I took arter ’em tooth and nail. With some lively sprintin’, and a bit of scrimmage I fetched your old gripsack out’n Sodom, and then I pegged it on your track ag’in. I didn’t get along in season to save you that clip on the head, but I did get there in time to play the thief myself. I led them chaps a wild-goose chase, and here I am with the hull establishment connected, wired and running in tiptop shape!”
As the youth, who could not have been over seventeen, despite his daring feats, finished his rather lengthy explanation, he handed
Deacon Cornhill his pocketbook and pushed his gripsack over by his side.
CHAPTER III.
AN ASTOUNDING PROPOSITION.
Deacon Cornhill listened with open-mouthed wonder to the rapid account of his youthful friend, unable to speak until he had concluded, when he managed to say:
“I don’t know what is proper to say to you, boy. You have done me a sarvice I shall never forget, if I live to be as old as Methusaleh; I shan’t, I vum I shan’t. I want to pay for it. Who’d thought them slickseeming men were sich cutthroats?”
“Black your boots and make ’em shine? I ain’t no time to waste in perlaver They need it. Time’s money, and bizness must be ’tended to afore pleasure.”
“Go ahead,” consented the deacon, putting out his right foot for the bootblack to begin work. Then, as the boy went about his task in a manner which showed that he had thoroughly mastered it, he asked:
“What’s your name, youngster?”
“I’m called Little Hickory,” spitting on the blacking and beginning to rub vigorously.
“You don’t say? Can’t be your regular Scripture name?”
“’Bout as near Scripter as an old man like me has ever got, mister. Excuse me, Deacon Cornhill.”
“Bless me, how did you know my name?”
“Overheard you give it to the sharper. But, oh, my! Ain’t your underpinners in bad shape! Can’t get a Broadway shine on ’em to save my reputation!”
“You ain’t told me your name yet,” persisted Deacon Cornhill, who had taken a strong liking for the strange youth. “And why do you mock at fate by calling yourself old? It’s a sin and a shame, of which you must repent some time in sackcloth and ashes.”
“I know as leetle of your sackcloth and ashes as you know of me, mister—I mean, Deacon Cornhill. Reckon I was older when I was born ’n many are when they die. I thought it proper for me to give you the name that b’longs to me where you found me. Mother calls me Rob.”
“That sounds more Christian-like. Robert is a good old family name. What name did your father have?”
“I couldn’t begin to ’numerate ’em, mis—I mean, deacon. I reckon he’s had a good round dozen, first and last.”
“Sho! but you don’t mean it! Where is he?”
“Dunno.”
“What! Don’t know where your father is? How long have you lived this harum-scarum life?”
“As long as I can remember. Push that foot out a leetle furder.”
“And you like it?”
“Don’t know any other, deacon.”
The good man from Basinburg groaned, saying after a minute:
“It’s too bad—too bad! You seem like a proper sort of a boy, with the right kind of management.”
“I shouldn’t want to bank on your judgment, squire—I mean deacon —seeing the way you let them sharpers pull the wool over your eyes.”
Deacon Cornhill relapsed into silence, while he watched the swift, dexterous movements of the cheerful bootblack, who began to sing a snatch of song. He was one of those broad-minded, whole-souled men who never see another in lowly circumstances without wanting to lift him up. The frank honesty of Little Hickory, as the boy persisted in being known, had won his confidence, and to have done that was to insure a friendship not to be swerved from its purpose. A new light came over his florid countenance, as he pondered, and forgetting him at work on his boot, he sprang suddenly to his feet, exclaiming:
“I’ll do it!”
Though taken completely by surprise at this frantic action, Little Hickory caught him by the wrist, and with the strength one would not have looked for in the youthful arm, he flung him back upon the bench, crying sharply:
“No, you don’t, till I get that other schooner in proper trim. You’d look well, wouldn’t you, with ’em in such shape?”
“Forgive me, my son.”
“‘My son!’ Forsooth, as the play-actor says: None of your soft solder on me. All I ask is for you to keep still till I can put the polish on this other brogan.”
It is needless to say that Deacon Cornhill obeyed, and not until the young workman was done did he say:
“I don’t exactly get the hang of you, my dear boy——”
“Hold right on there, deacon. If you have got anything to say, leave off the finery, and cut the garment plain. I ain’t much on soap, but I’m honest clear through. Go ahead with your tongue notions.”
“Rob,” resumed the other, recalling the fact that the boy had given at least so much of a name, “I ain’t going to perlaver. I want you to go hum with me.”
Little Hickory showed his surprise without speaking.
“I’m in dead ’arnest. Mandy and I have talked this all over time and again. We ain’t got chick nor child, and she was saying only yesterday how cheering it would be to have a boy in the house. I ain’t rich as some, but I’m comfortably fixed, and what I’ve got shall be yours, as soon as I’m through with it. You shall have my name, too, and be Elihu Cornhill, Jr.”
Rob still was too much surprised to speak, which allowed Deacon Cornhill to continue:
“It would be the making of you, Rob. It would get you away from the wickedness of this sinful city, and——”
“And away from my bizness.”
“Luddy me, you don’t call this blackin’ folks’ shoes and boots bizness!”
“By it I get my living, sir,” said the youthful speaker, with a pride one in better circumstances might have failed to display.
“But you would have a better and more honorable——”
“Hold right on, Deacon Cornhill! I reckon honesty is honorable anywhere. I should be like a fish out of water up there in the wilderness.”
“But out of this wilderness of wickedness. There you could go to Sunday school, and be up in society. You have got the making of a smart boy in you. You have done me a great help, and I have taken a fancy to you. I’ll get you a new suit of clothes, and you’ll look slick as a mouse. Then, as soon as I can finish my bizness, we’ll go hum and s’prise Mandy. Hum! How does that sound to you, Rob?”
If at first Little Hickory had thought that Deacon Cornhill was not in earnest, he could see now that he was intensely determined in what he said But he had no idea of accepting an offer made with so much abruptness, so he said:
“If I could leave my bizness, which I ain’t owned up to yet, I couldn’t leave my mother.”
Deacon Cornhill showed by his looks that this was a contingency he had not taken into account.
“So your mother is living, Rob?”
“She was when I left home this morning.”
“She can come along, too. She will be help for Mandy. I vow, it’ll be all the better for you to have her with us.”
“And my friends?” asked Rob, showing by his manner that he was becoming interested.
Before Deacon Cornhill could reply, the sound of many feet was heard entering the place, and a body of men quickly appeared on the
scene. The foremost was a burly, bewhiskered fellow, who at sight of our couple cried exultantly: “Here he is, boys! Nab him!”
CHAPTER IV. A BOLD STAND.
At sight of the mob crowding into the place, Deacon Cornhill gave a cry of fear and turned pale, as he looked hurriedly about for some way of escape.
The room seemed to have but one door opening on the street, and that was now blocked with the incoming men, the leader of whom showed a bright button on his coat, while he flourished a club in his right hand as he uttered the words given in my last chapter
The owner behind the counter uttered a cry of terror, and ducked his head out of sight, while the clinking of breaking glass followed his disappearance, a big pitcher having been upset and rolled off onto the floor.
So, all in all, it was a pretty exciting scene for a while.
Ragged Rob spoke next, at the same time stepping forward to meet the officer fearlessly:
“Who are you looking for, Whalen?”
“That chap behind ye.”
“Name him and you may have him. But not till you do,” replied Little Hickory, defiantly.
“I reckon names don’t matter when we run down sich covies.”
“They do in this case. This ain’t the man you are after, Whalen!”
“W’at d’ye know erbout it, Little Hickory?”
“All there is to be known, Whalen. Can’t ye see this is a hayseed from the country? Your man is a thorough-bred. Oh, I know who you are after.”
“I reckon a man’s a man,” muttered the officer, who appeared as if he had seen that he had made a mistake, but disliked to own up to it.
“Half an hour ago your man was steering toward the point, Whalen. ’Pears to me, with sich a reward at stake, I wouldn’t lose any more time with sich an old duffer as this covey, who won’t be worth a cent to ye after all yer trouble.”
Whalen could see the truth of this statement, and he cleared his way to get out by asking:
“You ain’t giving me misleader, Little Hickory?”
“No, Whalen. I advise ye to get on to the trail while the scent is fresh.”
Without another word the officer turned about, and, still followed by his crowd, left the saloon.
Deacon Cornhill stood staring after the departed officer and his men for some time in silence, while Ragged Rob resumed work upon his shoes.
Brattle’s head reappeared above the top of the counter, coming into sight slowly and with evident caution on the part of the owner, as if he was in doubt about the wisdom of the move.
“You haven’t answered my question,” said the bootblack, bringing Deacon Cornhill back to his situation. “Can my friends come with me?”
“Sart’in; every one of them. How many are there?”
Rob shook his head, though evidently not in reply to the other’s question, but relative to some thought in his mind. Presently he said:
“You are very kind, sir, but it cannot be. This is my life, and I could not fit into another. Good-day, sir; but, stay! I’ll not leave you in the gutter this time. If you want to find a stopping place for the night I will show you the way.”
Feeling that it would be useless to press his wishes further then, Deacon Cornhill followed him in silence, though resolved in his mind to renew the subject at his first opportunity. In the midst of their rapid advance he suddenly became aware of the presence of another boy who was five or six years younger than Rob. He was more ragged
than the other; in fact, he was little but rags, though there was a saucy defiance in his pinched, unwashed features which showed that he had little care for his personal appearance, or what another might think.
Rob evidently knew him, for he asked, familiarly:
“What luck to-day, old man?”
“Made eleven cents and blowed in three. Say,” he added, in an undertone, though loud enough to be heard by Deacon Cornhill, “got a big duck? Looks awful green.”
“Hush!” warned Rob, adding in a louder key: “I’ve got to see the gent here gets to Bradford’s O. K. Then I’ll hev you go home with me.”
“What’s your name, bub?” asked the deacon, who felt it a duty to say something.
“Chick.”
“I mean the name your parents gave you.”
“Golly; what an idee. Never had any, mister.”
“Where do you live?”
“Nowhere.”
“Onpossible. Where’d you stop last night?”
“Corner A and Tenth Street.”
“Whose house, I mean. I hope it was a good man’s.”
“Dunno ’bout that, sir. I didn’t see him, nor I didn’t go in.”
“But you said you stopped there?”
“So I did.”
“How could that be if you did not go in?”
“My cracky! ain’t you green? S’pose I’d gone in, how long d’ye s’pose I’d been guv to git out?”
“I don’t understand you, bub.”
“Any more’n I do sich a cabbage as you. I reckon there’s a way o’ stopping at a gentleman’s house without bothering him wid your comp’ny.”
“How can that be?” asked the wondering deacon, believing the boy was guying him. “How could you stop at a man’s house without seeing any one or they seeing you?”
“Slept under th’ covin’, mister.”
“Marcy me! out in the night? S’posin’ it’d rained?”
“I’d got wet, I s’pose, seein’ I’m not canvas-backed,” with a grin.
“And got your death of cold?”
“Ain’t so sure on that, mister. Th’ sun has alwus dried a feller out slick, and I ain’t heerd as he’s goin’ out’n bizness jis yit.”
“What do you do, Chick?—I think you said that was your name?”
“Pick up odd jobs, by which I can turn a penny, sir. My family is small, so I don’t hev to hev much.”
“Ain’t you got any folks?”
“Nope.”
“Don’t you get tired of living like this?”
“Don’t know any other way, mister.”
“What a pity! In this Christian land, too!”
“Got any more questions to ax, mister?” as the other hesitated; “’cos if ye hev I shall hev to begin to ax ye a fee, same’s the big chucks do up in the recorder’s office.”
Before Deacon Cornhill could reply he became aware of the confusion arising from a crowd of people standing about the entrance to a gloomy structure near at hand.
“What’s the matter?” he asked, in surprise.
“Only a girl up for vagrancy,” replied a bystander. “It don’t take much to draw a crowd. But she is a pert one, and with a boy’s name.”
“What is it?” asked Rob, beginning to show interest.
“Joe Willet, or some such a name, she gave the recorder.”
Without waiting for him to finish his speech, Rob began to elbow his way through the jostling crowd, and a moment later passed the high portals of the wide door.
“Here, here, my son!” cried Deacon Cornhill, excitedly, “hold on for me!” And, regardless of the jeers and outbursts of the spectators, he made a furious dash after his young guide.
“Hi, mister!” cried Chick, trying to keep beside the other, “keep with me an’ we’ll find Little Hickory.” Then he added to the amused onlookers; “Of all the dratted old fools I ever see he’s the lunkinest!”
Meanwhile Rob had got inside of the building, and, regardless of the curious spectators gathered on either hand, he pushed his way forward until he had reached a small court or opening before a high desk, above which the gray head of the stern recorder could be seen, as he looked calmly down at a frail girl, trembling from head to foot, as she stood beside the iron railing in grief and terror.
She was clad in a ragged dress, without any covering for her head. Though her features were bathed in tears, her brown hair had been cut short, and there was a general appearance of despair in her looks and actions, she was an attractive girl.
At sight of her Rob stopped suddenly in his impetuous advance, crying, in a voice heard in every part of the old building:
“Joey! I have found you at last. Have courage! Ragged Rob is still your friend, if every one else in the world turns against you.”
CHAPTER V.
SURPRISE UPON SURPRISE.
At sound of Ragged Rob’s ringing words every gaze in the spacious room, even to that of the grim recorder, was turned upon the fearless young bootblack, who, despite his grimy features and soiled, ragged clothes, looked every inch a hero. One countenance lightened at sight of him, and she at the prisoner’s bar cried, in a joyful voice:
“Oh, Rob!” and then she seemed about to fall, as if the glad appearance of her friend had overcome her But she quickly mastered her weakness, saying, in a supplicating tone:
“Save me from the workshop, Rob! Mother does so need me.”
“I will, Joey; never fear. What is the charge, Mister Recorder?”
“Vagrancy, coupled with trying to pass bad money and being generally a suspicious character,” replied the recorder, recovering his usual stern exterior
“There’s not a word of truth in it!” exclaimed Rob, impetuously.
“Order!” commanded the recorder, and a burly officer moved toward the excited youth, ready to seize him at the word from his superior. A murmur of excitement ran over the throng of spectators.
“Has she been sentenced?” asked Rob, recovering his selfpossession, and speaking with a calmness he was far from feeling.
“Blackwell’s—thirty days,” was the stern reply.
“It must not be!” declared Rob, boldly. “She cannot be guilty, Mister Recorder. Is there no way to save her from the workhouse?”
“As this seems to be her first offense, if there was some one to answer for her, she might be let off this time,” and though it may have been his imagination, Rob thought the recorder said this gladly. At any rate, it gave him hope, and he said, promptly:
“I will answer for her, Mister Recorder.”
“That could hardly be, as you are but a minor, as well as unknown to us.”
Rob’s countenance fell; but at that moment a loud voice from the rear of the courtroom exclaimed:
“I’ll answer for her, judge! That gal must never go to the workhouse. It would be a burning shame, in this Christian age.”
A buzz of surprise ran over the scene, while Deacon Cornhill, who had made the bold declaration, pushed his way forward to the side of the young bootblack.
“It’s too bad to send such an innercent to the workhouse, judge. How much is there to pay?”
“Who are you, sir?” demanded the recorder, looking askance at the countrified speaker.
“Deacon Elihu Cornhill, of Basinburg, your honor.”
“And you promise that she shall be provided for, Mr. Cornhill?”
“I do, judge.”
“Very well. In that case sentence is suspended during good behavior. She is too young and apparently too innocent to be sent to the workhouse. But, remember, miss, if you are brought back here a double sentence will be imposed.”
“Shameful, judge. Send such a bright girl to the workhouse——”
“Silence!” ordered the recorder, at the same time pushing a ponderous book toward the discomfited deacon. “Please put your name down there.”
As soon as Deacon Cornhill signed the necessary document, and finding that she was at liberty to do so, the young prisoner took Rob’s hand. Then, without further delay, while a generous murmur of applause ran over the crowd, the three left the courtroom, to be joined at the door by Chick.
“Where have you been, Joe, since that dreadful night when the old rookery was torn down over our heads, and we lost each other?”
“Everywhere, Rob. I am so thankful now that you saved me from the workhouse that I cannot say anything.”
“It was not I, Joey, but this kind gentleman, Deacon Cornhill.”
“I wish to thank you, sir. If you will only come home I am sure mother will do it much better than I can. Poor mother! how she must have been worrying about me.”
“How is she, Joe?”
“No better, Rob. And I have been away all day. You will go home with me?”
“Yes; that is, as soon as I have showed this gentleman to Bradford’s.”
“Don’t stop to do that, my son. Go home with the leetle one first. If she don’t object, I’ll go along with you.”
“Of course I don’t object, and mother will be glad to see you. How you have grown since I saw you last.”
“No more than you, Joe. Why, you are almost as tall as mother now. But, as we walk along, you must tell us how you were brought up before the recorder. Chick, you will go with us.”
“Well, you see, Rob,” began the girl, “mother has been so poorly for a week that I have neglected business. But to-day, seeing we had nothing in the house to eat and no money, I had to start out in earnest. I seemed pretty lucky at once, for inside of an hour I met a fine, old gent, who gave me ten cents to carry his portmanteau three squares and——”
“The lazy bones!” interjected Deacon Cornhill. “Do you mean to say, miss, the man let you carry his satchel alone?”
“I was glad to have him, sir, for it meant dinner for poor mother, and medicine, too.”
“Isn’t your father living?”
“No, sir He died twelve years ago. And mother has been ill for four years.”
“What do you do for a living?”
“Sell flowers, papers, or do anything that will bring me a few cents. Sometimes I run errands or carry gentlemen’s bundles.”
The kind-hearted deacon groaned, while she resumed:
“After I had parted with the old gent I found a flashily dressed young man, who wanted me to run an errand for him, and when I got back he gave me a silver quarter. It seemed so much for him to pay for so little work that I wanted him to take a part of it back, and he took my ten-cent piece. From that time until noon I earned only three cents; but, with my quarter, I felt quite well pleased. So I thought to buy something real nice for mother and go home. When I come to pay for the rolls and cake the man said the money was bad. I could not believe it, and while I tried to explain to him how I got it, he called in the police, when I was taken to the recorder’s court and kept there until you found me.”
“The sinfulness of this sinful city!” exclaimed the deacon. “And to think they were going to take you to the workshop.”
“I wish to thank you for your kindness, sir. You see, Rob and I used to be old cronies; but we have not seen each other for over two years. But here we are at home. How glad mother will be to see me, and you, too, Rob, and Deacon Cornhill, I am sure. But, dear me! here I have not brought her a crumb to eat. How could I have forgotten it?”
“Is it possible you live here, Joey? But go right in with Deacon Cornhill, while I go after something for her and you to eat. I will be back soon. Chick can shift for himself.”
“Buy something good,” said Mr. Cornhill, pulling out his well-filled pocketbook and handing Rob a five-dollar bill, which, however, he made the exchange for one of a smaller denomination. If Deacon Cornhill had learned to like bluff, hearty Little Hickory, he was not less pleased with the bravehearted girl, whose only name,
as far as he had found out, had that decided masculine ring of Joe.
“If the leetle one is willing, I’ll step in and see her mother.”
“Of course, sir; come right in. But you must be prepared to find scanty room. Our house is so small—that is, narrow, our rooms are not more than three feet wide. Still, now we have got used to them, we get along quite comfortably.”
Deacon Cornhill, by this time, was prepared to be surprised at nothing in New York; but this dwelling fairly staggered his senses. The entire width of this building, which was four stories in height, was scarcely five feet, outside measure. Was it a wonder the man, fresh from the country, where space is a matter of small consideration, was amazed at this peculiar structure, with its long, narrow apartments, where he could barely turn around? It seemed that at some time the land upon which it stood had been a matter of contention, until finally the owner, to spite his neighbor, had erected this tall, narrow building on his limited grounds.
It was occupied, at this time, by three families, one of whom was the Willets, mother and daughter, Josephine, Rob’s “Little Joe.”
Deacon Cornhill, as soon as he had somewhat recovered from his astonishment, was ushered into the presence of the invalid woman, who, after giving Joey a joyous greeting, received him in a manner which told that she had been well bred.
“But I am so helpless here,” she said. “I feel very grateful to you for befriending Joe, who is my mainstay. I must have been taken to the poorhouse soon after I was obliged to give up work but for her. And she cannot stand it much longer, poor thing! It has been so hard since my husband died. Ah! John and I never dreamed of what was in store for us when we left our old home in Maine to begin a new life in the big city. It was a new life, but a hard one. He was a good mechanic, but we had not been here two years before he was taken down with the fever. Of course, as soon as he stopped work his wages stopped, and when he died I was without a penny, and Joey a little girl. How many times have I pined for the old home, but, alas! I shall never see it!”
“You shall!” cried Deacon Cornhill, vehemently, for almost at the outset of their conversation the subject uppermost in his mind had received an impetus he had not anticipated. “That is, you may not see the old home, but you can see another as good.”
If at first she thought him demented, he quickly explained the proposition he had made to Rob, when Joey clapped her hands with delight.
“It might bring back your health, mother.”
“I know the sweet scent of the country air would do me good, my daughter; but do not raise any false hopes. We have not a cent to get there, if we had any place to flee to.”
“Hurrah!” cried the usually dignified deacon, forgetting his staid ways in the excitement of the moment; “my case is as good as won. You shall both of you go, if you will, and never return to this wicked city.”
“Here comes Rob!” cried the happy Joe, beginning to dance along the length of the narrow room. “We’ll talk it all over with him, and what a happy day it will be!”
