The Devil & Lillian Holmes Read Free Page B

rather shocking. Why would he stop?”
    “He is more interested in the study of mystical phenomena.”
    George laughed. “Ah, soothsayers and psychics, the scourge of every age. What a waste of talent.”
    Lillian fought back annoyance. “I hardly think we are in the position to laugh at a man who might believe in vampires. In any case, he will be in Baltimore soon. Might we go hear him speak?”
    “Did he specifically mention vampires?” George sat and rubbed at his forehead. “Oh, Lil, did you tell him?”
    Well, Lillian, you are a special sort of idiot, are you not?
    “Of course not! He mentioned his friendship with Mr. Bram Stoker; that is all.”
    If she’d understood more when she’d written to him two months ago… If she’d only known how private she’d have to become! She’d lost her most beloved friend, Bess, to fear and secrecy. She’d sent her longtime companions Thomas and Addie off to the seaside and barely communicated with those servants who remained in her own home, her maid Aileen and Aileen’s young male siblings. None openly questioned the constant presence of the broodsome George, but they would in time wonder why the two ventured out primarily during odd hours and no longer took meals. And why they were not engaged.
    How many times had she told Bess that no husband was better than the wrong husband? George adored her, lavished her with attention, tolerated her need for adventure, her eccentricities in a way no ordinary mortal man of society would. He was her maker, her mentor. No matter her recent struggles with existence, George had captivated her, body and soul. But, wedding? It was laughable. While she’d long ago given up the idea of a normal home life and family, her present state ensured nothing would be normal.
    Give it a bit more time, George had said. The murder, the blood, the hollowness—it would all pass, he promised. But she’d seen the worry in his eyes. It did not pass for every one of them. No, some went insane and killed themselves. Some ate their own kind, grew very strong and flaunted the rules. Marie de Bourbon was one of those, Madame Lucifer herself.
    Lillian and George had drunk from one another a few times, a dark adventure that stirred passion she hadn’t imagined could exist. And yet, no one had arrived to wreak justice upon her. George had assured her it was not a sin—well, not a sin by their standards—and that they would not become cannibals unless one drained the other completely. Not like Madame Lucifer…who also went unpunished.
    The Elders: the few who had lived for many millennia without insanity or cannibalism. How many were there? George hadn’t been sure, although legend told of twelve brothers, all powerful, all the first generation of two damned parents. But, out of how many? Thousands and thousands of vampires through the years, likely. Many now gone. Mortals were weak but always a danger. Damn it, didn’t Bram Stoker himself seem to understand what it took to kill vampires? And she had written to Mr. Doyle, his good friend…
    “Please, dear, let me see the letter.” George hooded his eyes, and Lil knew he suppressed the urge to force his will upon her as her maker. She admired that he never played that very special card, although she’d witnessed him press his brother Phillip that way.
    What have I done? Surely Mr. Doyle is no danger?
    She opened the drawer and handed the letter to George. He took a seat and read, mumbling and groaning at times. She busied herself with another project, trying to repair her riding goggles that had been run over by a trolley the night before.
    “Wedding?” he murmured with a quick glance at her. Then, “I know that you adore your Sherlock and his creator, but you must now agree with me that a continued connection with the author is out of the question. You must never meet.”
    “Hmnnn.” Lil didn’t look up from her project. It was hopeless without Thomas around. Of course, George would not allow her