The Black Swan Page 4

  “Very well. I promise.”

  “Thank you.” Remember reached for him with his remaining hand. “I hurt so badly. I’ve been waiting for you…all night…I was afraid I wouldn’t be able to make it through the day to say goodbye…Please, make the pain go away.”

  Gabe knew what Remember was asking of him. He wanted to refuse, but how could he? He stroked back the sweat soaked hair.

  “I will, Remember.”

  “Afterward, when it’s over, you’ll…you’ll take me home, Gabriel?”

  “Of course. Whatever you want.”

  “Mother Morwen…she’ll help you.”

  Gabe didn’t question that the wise woman still lived in her log cabin deep in the woods. If there were such as he who inhabited this world, then surely there were other beings.

  “I want to be buried next to my family.” Remember hardly seemed able to get the words past lips that were dry, bitten and cracked. “And…and when you have others such as me, bury them beside me.”

  “I promise you, I’ll do this.” Gabe didn’t tell him there would be none like him. Instead, he leaned forward and pressed his lips to Remember’s. It shredded his heart, but if he was going to do this, it was best he not delay and let his friend suffer more pain. “Don’t be afraid,” he murmured.

  “I’m not. How could I be? You’re my beloved…friend.”

  Gabe bit back a sob. Blood-red tears spilled down onto Remember’s cheek, and Gabe brushed them aside with a corner of his cloak. “And you’re mine.” It was a struggle to get his fangs to drop—in spite of the gloom caused by the torrential downpour, it was still daylight and his powers were diminished—but finally they emerged. He turned Remember’s head to the side, ran his tongue over the spot, and finally sank his fangs as gently as he could into his friend’s throat.

  Even though Remember had already lost so much blood, it took longer than he’d expected—possibly because he couldn’t stop his sobs—but eventually a soft sigh caressed Gabe’s cheek, and he knew it was done. He raised his head and wiped his hand across his eyes.

  “Here, what are you doing here?” a male voice demanded. “I gave orders this man wasn’t to be disturbed.”

  Gabe froze. He hadn’t even heard the man approach. He ran his tongue over his lips to catch any excess blood, then turned his head to glare at the intruder. “Who are you?”

  “I’m Dr. Stone. This man is my patient.”

  “He was your patient.” Gabe wanted to tear out the doctor’s throat for what he had done to Remember.

  “He’s gone then? Well, he lasted longer than I thought he would.” The uncaring tone infuriated Gabe, and he released Remember and surged to his feet.

  He was in front of the doctor before the man had any idea what was happening. “You cold-hearted bastard,” Gabe spat as he curled his hand around Stone’s throat, raising Stone until his toes barely touched the packed ground of the tent’s floor.

  “I…I had no choice.” The words were hoarse, and the doctor could barely get them out. His eyes grew huge, and he scrabbled at the fingers Gabe dug into his flesh. “If…if left u-untreated, his injuries w-would have proved to be f-fatal.”

  “They were fatal anyway.” Gabe tossed the man aside and returned to the body of his friend. Gabe wrapped the blanket Remember was lying on around him and lifted him with deceptive ease. “Be thankful I haven’t ripped out your throat.”

  Stone coughed, brought his hand to his abused throat, and massaged it. “Wh-who are you?”

  “Go ask General Meade. And while you’re at it, you can inform him that it was because of you he lost one of his best agents.”

  “What are you talking about? This man was just an ambulance driver.”

  Gabe let his eyes glow red and curled his lip at the man, exposing fangs that hadn’t succeeded in retracting just yet, and Stone shrank back, seeming desperate to make himself as small and insignificant as possible.

  Gabe staggered as he left the tent, then caught his footing. Not that his burden was heavy. It was the sorrow that weighed him down. He walked through the muddy streets toward their house. No one was around to see them, but it wouldn’t have mattered if it was Sunday and everyone was heading for church. He could walk through the crowds unnoticed.

  He settled Remember as comfortably as he could in his arms—later he would give a thought as to how foolish it might be to consider the comfort of a dead man—and blurred their outlines. Any inhabitants of Gettysburg would be unable to distinguish them.

  As he walked, he gave serious consideration to their situation. Home was more than two hundred miles away. With a light wagon, and even if he changed horses frequently, it would still take him almost a week to get there, and Remember would be in even worse condition.

  Going by the method he’d discovered decades ago, he could get Remember home in six or so hours. He didn’t usually travel in that fashion, since it took so much out of him, not to mention it made Remember uncomfortable, but now he didn’t have any choice. And his friend was hardly likely to object.

  Gabe tightened his hold on Remember and strode through the rain to their little house.

  It would be dangerous to leave now—there was the possibility he’d be traveling into sunlight—but that night they’d leave for home.

  * * * *

  Chapter 7

  It lacked an hour until sunrise by the time they arrived at the wood outside Braddockville. The cabin was lit only by the glowing embers of a dying fire. Mother Morwen sat in a rocking chair, a shawl around her shoulders in spite of the season, the fragrant smoke from the pipe she held curling up to the rafters.

  “I knew you’d be back.” She set aside the pipe, rose, crossed to a pallet laid out in a corner of the room, and tugged back the blankets.

  He laid Remember’s body on the pallet.

  “Oh, my son.”

  Gabe shied back, but Mother Morwen made no effort to touch him. Instead, she wrapped her arms around his friend’s cold body.

  “I wasn’t in time to save him,” he told her.

  Tears streamed down her cheeks. “I doubt you could have. So much damage,” She brushed the tears away and straightened. “Let me have your cloak. I’ll spread it before the fire to dry.”

  “A fire in July?”

  “My bones are old and appreciate the warmth.” She stirred up the fire and placed more firewood on it. Then she drew a chair in front of it.

  Gabe grunted but shrugged off his cloak and handed it to her, and she draped it over the chair

  “Now…It will be daylight soon. Into the root cellar with you.” She bent and folded aside a rag rug to reveal a trapdoor.

  “Remember’s grave—”

  “Trust me. I’ll deal with that.”

  He wanted to tell her that was his job, Remember was his…his friend, but words wouldn’t come.

  She tugged open the trapdoor, then handed him a blanket.

  He didn’t need anything of the kind, but he was too weary to decline it, and so he accepted it.

  “No one comes to see me. You’ll be safe here.”

  “Thank you.” He gave Remember’s body a last look. Lethargy was beginning to overtake him, and he needed to get into the root cellar before he fell on his face. He clambered down the steep stairs. The odor of herbs freshened the air of the root cellar, which would have been musty otherwise.

  He spread the blanket on the floor, lay down, and let the stupor wash over him.

  * * * *

  Even before he opened his eyes, Gabe knew he wasn’t alone. Had the old woman betrayed him?

  He sprang up and seized his visitor by the throat.

  The young man—he was hardly more than a boy—didn’t struggle. He just gazed at Gabe calmly.

  “Who are you?” Gabe demanded.

  “I’m Owen Littlebury.”

  “Littlebury?”

  “Remember was my great-great grandfather.” He tilted his head. “So are you. Mother Morwen sent word that she needed me. I’m h
ere to help you bury him. Would you mind releasing me?”

  “Sorry.” Gabe let him go, and Owen gave himself a shake.

  “Thanks. Do you…uh…need to feed?”

  “What do you know about it?”

  “Mother Morwen told me about you and Remember.”

  “Do you realize what you’re offering me?”

  “Of course. I’m not stupid.” Rather than tilting his head and offering his throat, Owen extended his wrist.

  It had been a few days since Gabe had last fed, and the distress of losing Remember and then having to travel to this place in the way he had saw him famished. He accepted the boy’s wrist.

  In spite of Owen’s brave words, Gabe could feel him stiffen. “I’ll hurt you as little as possible.” He dragged his tongue over the spot where blood ran close beneath the skin, knowing that action would soothe what he was about to do. He let his fangs drop. With a final glance into Owen’s eyes, he lowered his head, bit as gently as he could, and began to feed.

  Owen’s blood was sweet, but not as sweet as Remember’s. Gabe only took enough to see him through the next few hours. Afterward he would hunt for the creatures he could hear making their way through the forest.

  He ran his tongue over the tiny pinpricks he’d made, healing them.

  “That didn’t hurt,” Owen said with wonder in his voice.

  “Is it likely I would hurt my own kin?”

  “But you hurt others, don’t you?”

  He shook his head. “Fear or pain sours the taste of blood.”

  “If you know that…You must have reason to know that.”

  Gabe didn’t answer. He’d learned that early on, when the French vampyre had discarded him with the utmost nonchalance, but he saw no reason to share that with this boy. He stooped and retrieved the blanket from the root cellar floor. “Come. I have to dig Remember’s grave.”

  “No, I already prepared it.”

  “And no one wondered as to why you were doing this?”

  “It’s a sad time. So many graves need to be dug. This was just one more.”

  “I see.” Gabe climbed the stairs that led up into the cabin. “And your parents won’t question your whereabouts?”

  “No. They know I’m often here with Mother Morwen. Of course, I’ll let them know before we leave.”

  Gabe came to an abrupt halt. “I beg your pardon?”

  Owen stepped on his heels. “You need a black swan. Remember can no longer be here for you, so that leaves it to me.”

  “No.”

  “Why not?”

  “Because it’s out of the question.”

  “Why? My family won’t care.”

  “I said—Wait, why wouldn’t they care?”

  “I…uh…I have plenty of brothers and sisters.” Even in the dim light of the cabin, Gabe could see his blush. “I won’t be missed. Please take me with you? Truly, Gabriel—”

  “Don’t call me that!” That was what Remember had called him.

  “Grandda?” Owen seemed uncertain. “Would you rather I call you that?”

  “How old are you anyway?”

  “I’m twenty,” the boy said, a bit too quickly.

  “You’re sixteen.”

  “If you knew, why did you ask?”

  “To see how you’d answer.”

  Owen grumbled, and in spite of himself, Gabe’s lips twitched. The resemblance to a very young Remember was there if he searched hard enough.

  Remember…Gabe pinched the bridge of his nose.

  “You haven’t marched off to war?” He thought of the battlefield he’d left in Gettysburg and imagined this boy facing a sea of gray, his blue uniform covered in blood. Gabe felt his stomach turn over, and for a moment he was afraid he’d vomit out the scant amount of blood he’d swallowed.

  Unaware of what Gabe was thinking, Owen said, “No. I was waiting for you to come get me.”

  “What?”

  “Mother Morwen read my palm. It’s my destiny. It says so, right here.” His tone had become jaunty, and he held out his left hand and poked it with his right forefinger.

  Gabe groaned. “If you’re going to persist in this nonsense, you may as well call me Gabe. Now let’s get this done. Where’s Remember?”

  “We—” He cleared his throat. “I put him in the wagon before I went down to fetch you.”

  The cabin door opened, and Mother Morwen came in. “What are you waiting for? The sun has long since gone down. We don’t want to waste any more time.”

  “Yes, ma’am.”

  A big bay gelding, hitched to a wagon, waited docilely. As Owen had informed him, Remember’s body was in the wagon bed.

  “You put Remember in there? How did you manage it?”

  Owen gave him an innocent look. “I’m stronger than I look.” He glanced over his shoulder at the wise woman. “May I help you up, Mother Morwen?”

  “No, this is for the two of you to do. Afterward…afterward my task will be to tend to his grave. Come back when you’re done.”

  Gabe swung up onto the seat and unwound the reins from the whip’s butt.

  Owen scrambled up beside him and directed Gabe to the plot of land within the cemetery where Littleburys had been buried for as long as they’d lived in Braddockville.

  Gabe shivered at the sight of the gaping hole in the ground. Remember had never really been bothered by the dark, and for that matter, neither had Gabe, but the thought of his friend…his love…being consigned to this place until Judgement Day did something to his heart.

  But this had to be done.

  He handed Owen the reins, stepped down, and went around to lift his friend from the wagon bed. Once again he carried Remember with ease, ignoring Owen’s gasp of awe.

  Gabe dropped down into the grave and eased Remember onto the dry soil at the bottom. Abruptly, he found he couldn’t let his friend go. He sank down and drew Remember into his arms, rocking his friend gently.

  This isn’t Remember, he tried to remind himself. This is just the shell he used to inhabit.

  Why didn’t it help?

  From where he stood above them, Owen began reciting the Twenty-third Psalm. “The Lord is my Shepherd; I shall not want…”

  “Good-bye, my beloved.” Gabe kissed Remember’s cold lips, then rested his forehead against his friend’s. He set Remember down, rose, and hoisted himself out of the grave.

  Owen offered him a shovel and slowly, methodically, they covered the mortal remains of Remember Littlebury.

  * * * *

  Owen touched Gabe’s shoulder. “It will be daylight soon.”

  Gabe looked up at the sky. “Yes.”

  He’d been sitting at Remember’s graveside since Owen had placed the finely crafted marker, made by a friend, at the head of the grave.

  Gabe staggered to his feet.

  “Mother Morwen will let you stay the day in her root cellar.” Owen offered him his wrist, which he’d already cut.

  “You made the cut too deep.” Gabe caught the scent of the blood dripping down Owen’s arm, and he realized how very hungry he was.

  The boy looked abashed. “I’m sorry…”

  Gabe raised Owen’s wrist to his lips and drew his tongue over the cut with delicate strokes.

  “Oh!”

  “What is it?”

  “It’s stopped hurting.”

  “Of course. Something in my saliva relieves the pain. Next time—”

  “There’s going to be a next time?” Owen sounded like a child at Christmas.

  “If you’re certain you wish to accompany me?”

  “Yes, please!”

  Gabe had never liked being alone. He’d enjoyed having Remember by his side all those years since he’d been bitten. It would be nice to continue having a companion.

  “Very well, then. If you plan to do this again, you’ll let me take care of your wrist first. Or any other part of your body you decide to cut.”

  “All right. I promise.”

  Owen was such a l
ad.

  “All right, now I have some tasks for you. After we return to Mother Morwen, you’ll find us a wagon—”

  “This wagon is mine. I knew I’d need it after Mother Morwen read my future. And I’ve made it safe for you to travel in during the day.”

  “Clever boy.”

  His chest puffed out, and Gabe couldn’t resist ruffling Owen’s blond hair.

  “What else?”

  “Get a supply of food and water for yourself.” He gave Owen a handful of coins.

  Owen nodded and pocketed the coins.

  “And make sure you say good-bye to your family.”

  “I told you they won’t care.”

  “Nevertheless, you’ll let them know you’re heading west.”

  “Is that where we’re going?”

  “Perhaps.” Gabe wasn’t certain if he wanted to continue working for Edwin Stanton, President Lincoln’s Secretary of War, but he’d give it some thought. After all, what else was there for him to do?

  He climbed onto the wagon seat. This time Owen unwrapped the reins and shook them over the gelding’s back and rump. “Git up, Dan’l.”

  “Dan’l?”

  Owen turned his head and grinned at him. “I named him after Dan’l Boone.”

  Gabe shook his head. Owen really was a lad.

  * * * *

  The sound of voices greeted him when he roused from his slumber. He recognized Owen’s, but who did the second male voice belong to?

  Gabe climbed the stairs out of the root cellar. Mother Morwen was stirring a pot hanging over the fire. At one time the scent would have roused his hunger. Now it turned his stomach, one of the reasons why he avoided evening campfires.

  Seated at her small table were Owen and a young man Gabe hadn’t seen before.

  “Who is he?” he demanded.

  “I’m Phineas Hadley.”

  “That doesn’t clarify things,” Gabe snapped. “Who are you?”

  Owen grinned at him. “He’s my…my friend. He’s coming with us.”

  “Oh, no he’s not. War isn’t a game—”

  “We’re going to war?” Both boys looked excited.

  Gabe glared at Owen. “You saw what it did to Remember.”

  “He must accompany you, Master Granger,” Mother Morwen told him, and he groaned.