Part 5: A Bloodsucker Born Every Minute

“You have a deal. She’d have to bed you even if you were a pox-riddled, lice-infested, toothless, unwashed old codger. Is all this really necessary?”

Malcolm reached out and repositioned the mirror in front of his face for the tenth time. Billy’s inability to focus on the task of holding it steady reinforced his decision not to let the boy wield the razor. He trusted no one with a cutting edge so close to his throat—a lingering prejudice from the days when a shave so close one could see the spine wouldn’t heal—but especially not one who had yet to sprout a single whisker of his own and had a tendency to fidget.

The razor glinted against his jaw, scraping away the last stripe of lather and the rough stubble beneath it. “Your brutish disregard for the preferences of the fairer sex leads me to believe you will be purchasing any attention you receive from them. Be forewarned, however, that many whores who are not themselves pox-riddled, lice-infested, toothless, and unwashed will have nothing to do with you if you don’t show them rudimentary courtesies, such as hygiene.”

The mirror veered out of range again as Billy wiped his nose on his sleeve. “Their loss.”

“Clearly.” Malcolm cleaned the soap residue from his face with a damp cloth. His fingers followed, confirming the smoothness of his skin. “In answer to your question, few acts a man performs for a woman are necessary. The number of unnecessary acts he performs is an indication of her worth to him. To a civilized man, any female you’d want within smelling distance of you is worth at least a bath.”

Billy returned the mirror to a drawer. “They seem like more trouble than they’re worth, is all.”

“You’ll change your mind soon enough.”

Or would he? Malcolm had never known a vampire turned at such a young age. The unstoppable juggernaut of puberty may have met its match in their affliction. A cautious vampire could live many lifetimes without aging a day—maybe even forever, but he’d witnessed no real proof of that. Those who kept company with him tended not to be the cautious sort.

He shuddered at the thought of permanent adolescence, and not entirely in sympathy for Billy. Yes, the poor kid might be perpetually puny and awkward, but Malcolm would be the one suffering the whining and mood swings for eternity.

He put such unpleasant thoughts from his mind and donned a fresh shirt. He had readied himself like a nervous groom on his wedding night—bathed, nails trimmed, teeth cleaned, hair combed, clad in the finest clothing he had on hand. Reese would laugh at him, naturally, or scold him for wasting her precious time by not arriving naked, but he meant to savor every moment of this night and would not allow her impatience to hurry him. If she had to be bound to the furniture to slow her haste, he had prepared for that, as well.

In truth, he had prepared to bind her to the furniture regardless of her disposition. He could hardly maintain command if he was quivering like an excitable puppy at her touch.

He heard sounds of a scuffle on the other side of the door, followed by an unintelligible buzz of voices and the thud of a body striking the wall. Then, louder, “I ain’t tellin’ him!”

Malcolm bowed his head. His men typically ran to him like tattling schoolchildren to keep him abreast of every development, significant or profoundly otherwise. Reluctance to speak of a subject could only mean terrible news, the type that would have devastating consequences to his plans for the evening.

He’d prefer not to begin his encounter with Reese by saying, My crew got peckish and drained the men you entrusted to my care of their last drops of blood. Dreadfully sorry, darling. Now that’s out of the way, let’s get on with our night of passion.

He raised his voice to be heard by those outside. “Someone better tell me, as I’ll be even less happy about it if I have to beat the information out of one of you.”

After a few seconds of heavy silence, there came a timid knock on the door.

One would expect more courage from pirates or from vampires, but really, those labels were only an occupation and a sickness. Men remained true to their natures, no more or less prone to bravery or intelligence or any other trait than farmers with the croup or magistrates with syphilis—no matter how often Malcolm wished otherwise. “Open it and enter, you imbeciles.”

The door opened, but the two men in the passageway stayed where they were. “You should see for yerself, cap’n,” suggested the one not trying to hide behind the other. “And might I say, ye look quite the dapper gent this evening.”

Billy’s eyes grew wide. “Maybe you should change your clothes, sir. I have a feeling somebody’s about to lose his head, and I got no talent for removing blood stains from finery.”

They proceeded to the deck, Malcolm in the lead, Billy trotting behind him, and the other two reluctantly bringing up the rear. Off the port bow sat the Dawn Maiden, oddly devoid of activity. Beyond the ship was a murky yellow smudge on the horizon that was not the last vestige of the setting sun.

Malcolm kept his voice level with effort. “Where the hell are we, Barnes?”

The first mate shuffled his feet. “Just a guess, mind you, since we ain’t precisely been charting our own course lately, but that’s probably Baltimore.”

They’d made excellent time, considering the distractions. There was that, at least. “And how is it our six guests were able to navigate us all the way up the bloody Chesapeake Bay without alerting a single one of you something was amiss?” When no reply was forthcoming, he barked, “Quickly!”

Looks passed between the men, and Barnes was silently elected to speak. “Wine, cap’n.”

“Wine has no effect on our kind.”

“Course not, but you said quickly.”

Malcolm pinched the bridge of his nose. “Elaborate, then.”

“Some of the lads thought it fitting to hoist a glass in celebration of your impending… victory with the lass. Purely ceremonial, since spirits don’t, well, lift our spirits the way they used to. They, ah, liberated the drink from the Maiden’s inventory. The next thing we know, we’re waking up from sleep as deep as death, and the pigeons have flown the coop.”

One of the men bobbed his head in agreement. “We think maybe the wine was drugged, cap’n.”

“Thinking would have served you better earlier, it seems.”

“How could we know they’d poison their own supplies?”

Malcolm’s brows winged upward. “Yes, how could anyone possibly anticipate a ship full of mercenaries led by the most devious wench to ever bedevil man would resort to such trickery?”

Most of the crew did their best to fade from his attention, but one brave soul dared to ask, “But how could she know we’d take it?”

“Pirates steal!” So she had rightly supposed. Even when they had no use for the booty available, they appeared unable to resist the temptation.

He ordered a search of the Maiden, and one of the Shadow, for good measure. With his crew insensate, she’d had ample opportunity to fill his ship with enough gunpowder and precariously balanced lamps to blow it sky high with the next pitch of the waves.

The men he’d stationed on the Maiden were located bound and gagged in the larder from which the wine had been stolen. He wondered whose idea it had been to leave them alive. Not Reese’s. She’d have carved them into bite-sized cubes and fed them to the fishes.

The edge of his fury dulled with their discovery. He had to respect her ability to outmaneuver him, but murdering his men in cold blood would have been another matter entirely.

There was no trace of her precious cargo. One of the men had witnessed crates being offloaded to another vessel prior to his being stashed away. Surely she could afford bribes to expedite the tedious process of securing berth at port. To skip it entirely suggested Baltimore was not her destination. She’d likely continued upriver after transferring her load to another boat.

No wonder time was so crucial to her. The cunning woman must have plotted her arrival down to the minute for a rendezvous arranged well in advance.

“Cap’n! There’s something strange you should have a look at!”

Malcolm was directed to Reese’s cabin. His lips curved at the sight of the blanket-swathed figure huddled in the corner upon the bed.

“Who’s that?” Billy whispered from the doorway, as if afraid to spook the cowering form.

“Your type of woman, puppy. Well endowed, indiscriminate, and unable to complain about your inadequacies.”

He yanked the cover off, and the mannequin fell to pieces. He tossed one of the grapefruit to Billy. A piece of paper was affixed with a pin to the other. He unfolded the note and read:

Dear Mister Marrs,

I pardon your crew for stealing my wine. In fact, consider it a gift.

I said I would win your game. If you believed anything I said after that, you’re not much of a sportsman.

If it’s any balm to your stinging pride, there were occasions when I might have found you tempting—were it not for the coercion, thieving, and deceit.

Better luck next time,

R.H.

Without raising his eyes from the paper, he asked, “What are you smirking about?”

Billy cleared his throat. “Sorry, sir. Just thinking you’re maybe not the best source of advice when it comes to women, seein’ how much trouble this one went through to get away from you and all.”

Malcolm carefully folded the note. “Some women take longer to catch.”

“You’re not still chasing her, are you?”

Chasing implied being led aimlessly. He preferred to think of it as hunting. “Some prey isn’t worth the effort involved in acquiring it. She is.”

“But she’ll be in her own territory now, with friends and family and servants who’ll stand in your way. You might as well be trying to break into a fortress. All she has to do is sit there sipping tea until you get tired and go away.”

With any other woman, that would be the case. Reese, however, would not hide behind others for protection. She would stalk out to meet him on the battlefield, swords drawn, determined to shove defeat down his throat once and for all. She was too proud, too clever, too fiery to employ a waiting strategy.

And tempted. That admission did little to discourage him. If she wasn’t so smugly confident she’d bested him, she never would have confessed such a thing. “It’s not so great an advantage. She believes the game is over, so I have the element of surprise in my favor.”

Her position might even prove a disadvantage to her. She’d give him everything he wanted to get rid of him before she had to explain her close acquaintance with a pirate to those in a position to judge her for it.

“More likely we’ll find your corpse in an alley, split from neck to groin and hollowed out, and all your organs, including the offending one, in a pig trough two counties over.”

Malcolm didn’t care much for the enthusiasm with which his grisly fate was predicted, but he gave the boy credit for creativity. “If my corpse is smiling, you’ll know she was worth it. Now, let us venture to town. My careless would-be drunkards have some investigating to do as to the whereabouts of a certain pigeon.”

“What will you do?”

Malcolm spread his arms. “I prepared myself for a woman, did I not? Surely one will volunteer a warm bed and a hot meal.”

“Something easier to hunt than pigeon, I hope.”

“Indeed.” In passing, he delivered a smack upside the boy’s head.

“Ow!” Billy rubbed the back of his head. “What was that for?”

“Cheek, pup. Regardless of whether you’ve succeeded in amusing me, I would be remiss in my duty as your captain and elder by several centuries if I failed to take you to task for disrespect. Next time, it’ll be a boot to your arse.”

Billy scowled at the grapefruit and mumbled, “Bet Miz Hershey wouldn’t find it endearing that you beat up on children.”

“You obviously have spent no time in the lady’s company. To her, the beatings are to tenderize the children before poaching them in their own fat and serving thinly sliced at fancy dinners.” Malcolm seized one of the boy’s spindly arms and tested a meager muscle with a light pinch. “Not much meat on your bones, but perhaps I should make a gift of you anyway. What say you, young William?”

“Me and my arse have nothing to say at this time, sir.”

“Splendid.” Not the battle he’d wanted to win this evening, but he’d take every small victory he could get to bolster his morale. It was clear now such triumphs would be few, far between, and hard fought in the war against Reese Hershey, but he would not make the same mistake twice.

If she preferred games with no rules, no boundaries, and no honor, he would give her exactly what she wanted.

To be continued…