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Only three nights had passed since Aldric sent his fiery retort to the kidnapper’s demands. Now he’d come to regret it.
He’d scoured all of Blackpool and every surrounding town and borough and hadn’t found a trace of his missing niece or her companion.
The kidnapper was far cleverer than Aldric had anticipated. None of the farmers had any knowledge of the situation in their minds as he’d crept into their rooms and fed on their blood and memories.
The Horne widow at Berwyn Farm had given him a stab of remorse, as her thoughts were consumed with how she’d break the news to her children that they were to be evicted. Nightmares taunted Aldric’s day rest. What if the criminal had given up on the chance of ransom money and slit Vivian’s throat and tossed her into the sea?
Had Aldric’s pride and anger killed his niece?
Things were not supposed to have gone the way they had. The whistling drunk should have been the kidnapper, but the scent of the man had been all wrong, along with the lack of recognition in his eyes.
And while Aldric had been occupied questioning the drunk, the man he was after managed to seize the note Aldric had written and flee the area.
The question was, did the kidnapper arrange for the drunk to wander in and keep Aldric occupied, or had he merely taken advantage of the situation? Aldric should have fed from the man and read his thoughts to see if he’d been complicit, but he’d been so enraged by the fact that the kidnapper had swept right under his nose and back out again that he’d instead chased after the criminal in a fruitless pursuit.
By the time he returned to the cemetery, the drunk had wandered off.
Next time—if there was a next time—Aldric wouldn’t let himself be taken in like that.
When the butler delivered his mail, Aldric’s breath caught as his gaze lit on an envelope with no return address.
Apparently, the next time had arrived.
Aldric tore open the envelope like a man possessed. Inside was a folded square of foolscap and a lock of Vivian’s hair. Disregarding the note, he seized the severed bit of dark tresses and brought it to his nose. Aside from his niece’s scent, all Aldric could detect was a thick reek of wood smoke, a slight tang of salty sea air, and the vague essence of leather.
Blast it! The whoreson had worn gloves.
However, that evidence gave him pause. Had the kidnapper known that he had to conceal his scent, or had he simply been cold? The smoke smell indicated that he was either holding his captives outdoors, or in close quarters, perhaps a small cottage.
Aldric inhaled the lock of hair once more, straining his preternatural senses for more clues. There was a decided lack of fear sweat, which at least reassured him that Vivian and her companion were unharmed. He also thought he detected something unidentifiable, yet familiar, but that was likely wishful thinking.
With a sigh of disappointment, Aldric unfolded the letter.
Bury the money beneath the stone angel in the Wigleigh Priory cemetery in Mythop at noon on Saturday. Or next time, I’ll send you her finger.
“You’ll do no such thing,” Aldric muttered. If Vivian’s captor had any inclinations to violence, the scent of terror would be soaked in both her hair and the paper. He sniffed the foolscap and detected the same permeating smoke, cheap ink, leather, and again something familiar that he wished he could place.
Of course, there was no way for Aldric to do what the kidnapper wished anyway. The noon sunlight would scorch him to a crisp. It was the one advantage that humans had over Aldric’s kind. But why cemeteries in isolated villages? At first Aldric had assumed Vivian was being held somewhere near Wrea Green, the first place he’d been directed to go with the money. But he’d scoured the area and found no scent of Vivian.
Aldric rose from his desk with a sigh and left his study. He’d wanted to keep this disastrous mess quiet, but it was now maddeningly apparent that this was a problem he could not resolve on his own. He descended the stairs and went out the front door with a quick nod to his butler, who regarded his departure with indifference. His servants were quite accustomed to the viscount’s unusual comings and goings.
His first stop was the home of his second in command. Alas, Bonnie was not home. He found her at Gordon’s Pub, sipping ale and laughing at a group of sailors telling bawdy jokes. Her mirthful grin vanished the moment she spotted Aldric and she excused herself and took her ale to a table in the corner.
Aldric sat across from her and spoke low. “My niece has been abducted.”
Bonnie’s eyes widened. “I thought she was visiting a friend in Manchester.”
“If the truth gets out, her reputation will be ruined, and no man will marry her.” The explanation sounded so petty when he voiced it aloud.
“Ah.” Bonnie nodded, though there was a note of disapproval in her tone. “I forget that blue-blooded females have to be sheltered from the world to be worthy of a man’s attention.”
Aldric rubbed his temples and tried to conceal his irritation. He did not have time to debate society’s treatment of women, even if he did agree with Bonnie’s opinions most of the time. Why else would she be his second in command? But now he needed to devote his attention to finding the cad who held Vivian in his filthy grasp. He reached in his desk and withdrew the first ransom letter from his pocket. “I found this in my carriage five nights ago. The bloody fiend somehow drugged my coachman and stole the horses and my niece and her companion.”
“That sounds like the operation of more than one man.” Bonnie read the letter with a frown. “Why didn’t you just give him the money?”
“Because I am not about to let a foolish mortal turn a profit by crossing me.” Aldric hid his surprise at the assumption that he was only dealing with one man. He’d been so blind with rage that the logistics of the actual abduction hadn’t been processed. “If our people hear of it, they’ll lose all respect for me. Besides,” he continued with increasing confidence. “With you and a few other good vampires, we should easily be able to track him down and make him pay.”
“Would you like me to call a Gathering?” Bonnie asked. “With the whole network on the hunt, we should locate your niece in a trice.”
“No.” Aldric was not ready to let all his vampires hear that a human had stolen Vivian out from under his nose. “I wish for this matter to remain between us. I will write a writ of passage and I want you to travel the surrounding territories to the south and see if you can sniff her out while I do the same north.” He handed her the lock of Vivian’s hair. “This is her scent.”
Bonnie took the dark lock of hair and bowed. “Yes, my lord.”
When she departed, Aldric buried his face in his hands. Was he a fool to leave Vivian and her companion at the mercy of their kidnapper? What if he was wrong and the man or men would resort to violence? Would he truly receive his niece’s severed finger next time?
He ran his hands through his unfashionably long hair and clenched his jaw. No, he had no choice but to embark on this course. For what he’d told Bonnie was the unvarnished truth.
If other vampires thought Aldric was weak, someone would move on him soon and try to take over his territory. As it was, he’d heard rumblings of disapproval from some about Aldric allying with the interim Lord Vampire of London and becoming involved in his civil war three years ago.
But in the end, Aldric felt he’d made the right decision in bringing his pitiful small force to aid England’s most powerful vampire. Blackpool may be a small territory, but hopefully the courage and strength of his people would be remembered.
Furthermore, the Lord of London had returned the favor in many ways, the least of which being ensuring Vivian’s safety throughout her three failed London Seasons—a feat that Aldric himself had failed.
On his way home, his imagination tormented him of visions of Vivian’s fear and suffering.
“My poor dear,” he whispered. “I will bring you home safe and not rush in marrying you off. Instead I will find you a husband that will be kind and gentle to you, for you’ve surely suffered enough.”