A/N: Thank you so much for the reviews. I tried like everything to get this out yesterday, for Halloween, but it was just not ready - so I'm posting it on All Souls Day (which fits too)... This very long chapter was one of the hardest to write for this story, but the only way that made sense for plot. I hope you guys enjoy (nervous laugh….) …and are prepared…

And now…


Chapter XXXV

.

Christine startled to sudden consciousness at the banging of the massive doorknocker on the castle gate, the disquieting sound carried in the stillness of the night. Erik was already moving swiftly to stand. In the next instant, he lit the candle by her bed with his magic and strode, naked, to grab her chemise from the floor and toss it to her lap, reminiscent of their morning escape from Paris.

"I advise you to put that on, my dear, and quickly, to save you any embarrassment by what happens next."

"What happens next…?" Christine parroted in confusion.

She sat up and stared at him, the dread of the moment dampening any shyness she might feel to see her husband fully unclothed in the candle's pale glow. He stood at an angle to keep the flawed side of his features from her sight and pulled his shirt over his head, where it fell mid-thigh. He then plucked his mask from the floor and slipped it over his head.

"You know what this is about, don't you?" she insisted nervously, clutching the blanket to her bare breasts. "You know who is out there."

In all the time she had been at the castle, no one had come to visit the Count, save for her great uncle and his thugs on the day of what turned out to be her wedding, and certainly never in what must be the middle of the night. A quick glance showed that darkness still filled the window.

He sighed and somberly shook his head. "Get dressed, Christine. Soon we will know."

She had just donned her chemise and Erik had reached for his trousers when a knock – not the usual scratching – sounded at her bedchamber door. Christine turned her head that way in confusion. Why would Mihaela wake her before dawn and why would she approach her room and not Erik's?

"Enter!" he commanded, Christine seeming to have lost her tongue with the apprehension of what news the maidservant would bring.

Mihaela walked in, her face blooming with sudden color. With her bed wrapper tied around her, the girl also roused from sleep, she averted her eyes to the floor.

"Begging your pardon, Master – Mistress – but there is a servant sent here from Montmarte who insists on speaking to my lady. He would not say why."

"Thank you, Mihaela," Erik said quietly. "You may go."

She gave a slight curtsy, still not looking at either of them, and quickly left the bedchamber, closing the door behind her.

"Erik…?" Christine could not disguise the worry in her voice. "From Montmarte?"

He closed the distance, holding out her dress and woolen stockings for her to take. "Get dressed, my dear," he said, his voice gentle, then sat on the edge of the bed, putting his back to her to don the remainder of his clothing.

For whatever reason he was not inclined to address the matter, though Christine worried that she already knew the cause of this nocturnal visit. Her hands shook so much, she fumbled while trying to fasten her corset and felt grateful when he silently stepped up and nudged her hands away from the hooks, swiftly managing the task.

Once they were downstairs, a young man she had never before seen awkwardly stepped forward. Dressed impeccably in dark, common clothes typical of Montmarte's servants, he held his hat in his hands. He bowed his head when Erik and Christine approached.

"My lord, my lady," he said. "The Vicomte de Chagny sent me here to bring the Countess to Montmarte. I am the earl's new driver."

"But why would he send for me in the middle of the night?" she asked apprehensively. "Is it Lucy?"

"I'm sorry, I wasn't told."

Christine shook her head in frustration at the mystery yet unsolved. "I must go," she said, more to herself than to anyone else.

"Christine, wait."

Erik put a staying hand to her arm. She looked at him in confusion, and he shook his head slightly then moved directly in front of the young man who appeared now as if he trembled in his boots.

"Tell me," Erik inquired, his voice soft like rich velvet, "who are you?"

"I am the driver for the Earl of Montmarte."

"Why are you here?"

"The Vicomte told me to come."

Christine moved to stand beside her husband.

"For what purpose?" he insisted softly.

As he spoke, Christine watched him, shocked to note the dark pupils of his eyes shrink to mere pinpoints within the gold of his irises then enlarge greatly before returning to their normal size.

"He did not say, only that the Countess would not refuse, that she asked to be kept informed."

Christine pondered the boy's words. Perhaps Lucy had asked for her – but why at so late an hour? Unless she had taken a turn for the worse.

"And there is no other reason you have come?"

"No, my lord."

Erik nodded and looked ready to step away, then added, "While she is in your care, you will do nothing to harm my wife, even sacrificing your life for hers if need be."

"Erik…"

"I will do all you have said," the lad replied as if under a trance, and Christine knew he was.

Erik broke the compulsion and stepped away, ordering the driver to return to the carriage and wait. He took her cloak and scarf from Mihaela, who had silently approached and stood behind them.

"If our country goes to war, the leaders of the army would greatly benefit from your faultless tactics with their enemies," Christine said as he drew the woolen cloak around her form then brought the scarf around her neck.

She was determined not to allow the dread that lay heavy on her shoulders to overtake her, but he saw through her light quip to the concern that filled her heart.

Cupping her face with one hand, he stroked his thumb against her cheek.

"When it comes to you, my dear Countess, I take every precaution. Under compulsion, one cannot lie. You will be safe."

His words suddenly registered and she wrinkled her forehead in dismay.

"You're not coming with me?"

"Rest assured, I will follow. I wish to take Cesar, so that we have transport back to the castle and will not have to rely further on Montmarte hospitality."

It was on the tip of her tongue to ask why he could not just magically transport them both home in the blink of an eye – but of course he could do no such thing without creating suspicion. For them to suddenly disappear from Montmarte without a driver to take them would breed all manner of questions; Raoul especially would take note of it. And she began to realize how difficult Erik's life must be always to live within a masquerade, only able to let down his mask when in the safety of his home. Literally and figuratively.

"Go," he reassured. "I shall be directly behind."

Clasping her shoulders, Erik kissed her forehead then slipped a hand to her back and escorted her to the carriage, helping her to alight and waiting until she was settled before closing the door and heading for the stables.

The entire ride to Montmarte, Christine struggled to keep at bay her thoughts of what terrible new malady must have arisen for Raoul to request her presence at so inconvenient an hour. Now and then, she looked over her shoulder through the narrow back window, hoping to see Erik on his horse galloping to catch up to them, but the forest was too dark to see anything but shadows and black silhouettes on the snow. Nor did any of them move.

Once the carriage arrived, Christine did not wait for her husband to appear, the driver escorting her to the front door and opening it for her, eliminating the need for Christine to ring for the butler.

She pulled the hood of her cloak from her head and looked about the foyer, her heart skipping a beat to hear a woman's quiet sobbing in a nearby chamber. She feared to know but suspected the truth, even as she spotted Raoul walk slowly down the staircase. His face was white.

"You're too late," he said barely above a whisper. "She's gone."

"Gone?" Christine refused to believe what had become apparent. "What do you mean 'gone'? Where would she go? She has never left Montmarte!"

"Not absent for a time, Christine." He shook his head sadly. "Gone for all eternity. Lucy passed away only moments ago."

"Passed away…?" she repeated, shaking her head and lowering her gaze. "But – how can that be? She was doing so much better!"

"I cannot conceive what went amiss," he said as if speaking to himself. "I kept watch outside her room all night, every night since you were last here. I rarely left her unguarded and always made certain a maidservant was with her during those brief occasions. The window in her bedchamber is fixed into the stone, not designed to open…"

"Window?" Christine shook her head in confusion, feeling suddenly lightheaded with the horror of it all. "What in heaven's name are you talking about?"

She took a shaky step backward, feeling as if her legs might betray her and she would sink to the floor, when strong hands suddenly clasped her shoulders from behind, keeping her upright. She glimpsed the flash of a familiar ring on her savior's finger and turned quickly into his arms, wrapping her own around his waist, beneath his cloak.

"Oh, Erik, she's gone," she sobbed against his chest. "Lucy's dead!"

With one arm he held her close, his hand smoothing the back of her head in comfort. When he spoke, his voice came gruff and she did not feel his words were directed to her.

"How did this happen?"

"I am uncertain what this has to do with you."

Christine turned her head in angry disbelief to address her cousin. "He is my husband and that makes him family."

Raoul averted his eyes at her quiet chastisement but did not reply.

"I want to see her," Christine decided, breaking away from Erik but taking his gloved hand in silent appeal for his company. He nodded and together they took the staircase, Raoul thankfully offering no refusal, and coming up behind them.

At the bedchamber door that stood ajar, Christine hesitated. Erik slipped his hand from hers and moved it to her back in support. As they walked inside, she noticed the little mutt lying at the foot of the bed, his shaggy head sadly resting on his paws as if he understood what had transpired. At the sight of Erik, Topsy jumped to his feet with a fearful little whimper and scampered from the room.

By the dim glow of the bedside lamp, Lucy lay upon the bed with eyes closed, her face and lips as snow white as the pillow upon which her head rested. Her flaxen hair streamed as silver floss all around her. In death, she appeared like a winter angel. So silent, so still, never to whisper and giggle to her dolls again or look out at the world through those otherworldly and innocent delph-blue eyes.

None of this seemed real. Ever since the banging at the door had awakened her, Christine felt as if she was trudging through some bizarre nightmare…

She brushed the tears from her lashes with her fingertips and drew closer, dully noting that Lucy's neck above the lace bib collar was without blemish. Touching her ice cold hand which lay by her hip, Christine gently nudged it aside and found her wrist untouched, as was the other.

How could this be? It made no sense…

"There are no marks on her," Christine observed somberly, putting thought into words. "Did they also heal as before? Was she not again attacked to be so unnaturally pale?"

"Christine," Raoul said in mild warning from the other side of the bed where he stood. "This is not the time to speak of such things." He darted a glance toward Erik, then looked back at her. "We will talk of this when we are alone."

"There is no need," Christine said, weary of all of it, especially the secrets. "He knows, Raoul."

"Knows?" he repeated warily.

"About our family legacy, about…" She glanced at Erik. "…the Dark Ones."

"You told him?!"

"Yes, yes I did," she said somewhat testily, but kept her voice low as he also did, as if they stood in a cathedral. "My mother told my father. He even helped her, from what I read in her journal. Why should I not do the same with my husband?"

"Tell me, monsieur," he responded to Erik, "with what you have learned, assuming you even believe it, do you plan to help my cousin?" The snide way he said the word left it clear that he doubted in the Count's ability to do so.

"I do not answer to you, Vicomte, but for Christine's sake…" He slid his hand down her back and around her waist, drawing her closer. "I will do anything I must."

His words and touch were a comfort, and she tilted her head to rest it against his shoulder.

"And do you believe there are monsters afoot?" Raoul quietly insisted, unwilling to let the matter drop.

Erik gave him a twisted smile. "There are always monsters in a world so dark."

Beneath the soft, sardonic words slithered a deeper meaning, one that by Raoul's narrowed eyes, he understood well.

"It fails to matter," Christine said, "I have told you, cousin, I have no desire to fight the Dark Ones."

"It is your legacy!"

"But it is not yours."

Her soft accusation took him aback. He stared at her in uncertainty. "Why would you say such a thing?"

"It was in my mother's journal," she explained. In all the trauma of this past week, she had overlooked what should have been apparent and what Erik pointed out on their return home the night of the blizzard. "She penned that I am the only one to bear the mark in our family. She did not have the mark, nor did your mother, nor did you, though you led me to believe you were one of the chosen."

Raoul pressed his lips together, not bothering to deny her claim.

"I did not lie, Christine. I may not bear a physical mark, but the desire to fight and rid the world of their evil is deeply ingrained inside of me, a part of who I am, as it was for your mother and for my own. I wanted you to join me."

"That is not going to happen," she said firmly.

"No, I don't suppose it is…" He looked away in disappointment, flashing a disparaging glance at the Count before turning his attention back to Lucy.

If Erik noticed he gave no sign, and Christine was ready to let the matter drop. There were matters of far greater consequence to deal with at the moment than to give heed to petty rivalries.

Christine's heart felt as heavy as a millstone to see her young cousin lying there, so still, as if carved from white marble. Something then occurred to her, something she realized with a guilty stab of conscience and should have brought up when she first heard the dismal news.

"Our uncle, how is he faring?"

Despite the bad blood between them, Christine knew how devoted the earl was to his only child and that he must be devastated.

"Grief-stricken, of course, but he had resigned himself that this might occur. He is in the study with the physician, who is writing out a certificate of death. He ruled it as acute neurasthenia." He shook his head at the absurdity.

"The physician is here now?" Christine looked at him in surprise. "How long ago did this happen, Raoul?"

"He was here when she passed, had actually come to check on her – and found her near death. It was then that I sent the driver to collect you."

Christine sadly nodded. "I will stay if you need me and do what I can, of course. The servants should be instructed to prepare the parlor for the visitation. I have some experience in these matters, after Mama Valerius's passing. And my parents, though I was too young then to do anything but watch Madame Giry manage the proceedings."

"There is no need," Raoul stated, his words quiet but firm. "There will be no wake."

"No wake?" Christine blinked in shock. "But - what of family members who would wish to come and see her before she is laid to rest? Will the earl not object?"

It all seemed so bizarre, so unnatural to stand at her young cousin's bedside, with her lying there, absent of life, and discuss the minutiae of her death.

"We are all the family she had. Due to her…condition, there are no friends to visit."

Christine reflected on his words in dismay. Lucy had experienced none of those things that should have been hers to enjoy – love, marriage, children. Friends. Though Christine supposed her cousin had known a twisted kind of happiness, trapped inside the madness of her fantasy world with her porcelain dolls for company.

"I have already discussed it with Uncle. Once the doctor leaves, tonight we will say a few words at the crypt and lay her to rest there."

"What?" Again Raoul surprised her with his seeming desire to quickly wash his hands of the matter. "So soon?"

"It is best for all involved."

Christine hardly thought it best for Lucy's father to send off his beloved daughter without a proper farewell. "She must have a priest say rites over her, Raoul – she must." Before he could argue, she added, "The priest who stayed at the castle while he recovered from his wounds – Father Kiley – send a servant to the village to ask if he will come."

Raoul hesitated as if he might refuse but gave a tight nod. "I will go and see to it."

Once he left the bedchamber, Christine melted against her husband's side, grateful for his strength.

"Oh, Erik. How could this happen? I thought the worst with Lucy was behind us."

She kept her voice soft, hoping he would not interpret her question as an accusation. Days ago, he assured her everything was under control; she only wished to understand how it could have all gone so wrong so quickly.

She felt his chest slowly rise and fall in a resolute breath. "The blood moon."

"What?" She looked at him. "When you said the remarkable can occur?"

His expression was somber. "And evil is given greater power. If Nicolae already possessed an invitation to Montmarte from a previous era and it does not expire with the owner who gave it but lives on through his descendants, then there would have been no stopping him in his vile agenda."

"But she was being watched continually!"

"By those who are not impervious to being compelled."

At his reminder that Raoul was a slayer only by desire and not through design, Christine nodded in grave understanding.

She could not be compelled. She bore the mark of the chosen. The fiend's magic would not have worked on her… perhaps if she had stayed at Montmarte during Lucy's all too brief recovery, perhaps if she had used the silver dagger to fight him off when he approached, as she had done before, instead of so foolishly burying its blade in a tree…

"Stop it, Christine."

Snapped out of her dismal ruminations, she looked away from Lucy to her husband. Beneath the sorrow mirrored in his eyes, the gold burned fiercely.

"You are not to blame for this," he answered her unspoken question. "This pre-dates centuries, to the original Council of the Dragon and Nicolae's thirst for vengeance. There was nothing you could have done, especially with the emergence of the blood moon."

She sighed in resignation. "It is only that I'd just begun to know her. We developed a rapport of sorts, as much as could be experienced with her under the hypnotic persuasion she suffered as a child, always living within her fantasies." She shook her head sadly. "And now, it's too late."

"Perhaps not."

Alert to his words, her heart skipped a beat at the implication, and she hurried to ask, "What do you mean? Is she…?"

Erik put his finger to his lips, and Christine's query faded into nothing. In the next instant, she heard more than one set of footsteps approach.

Frustration warred with a fearful sort of hope, that she correctly interpreted the meaning of his reply. Yet until they could speak alone without fear of being overheard she dared not risk airing the question.

xXx

The moments that followed blended into a blur as obscure as the pall of thick night surrounding them. By the dual chimes of the grandfather clock the time was two hours past midnight, and it stunned Christine to note there were still hours to go before the dawn. The moon, tinged in blood or otherwise, had disappeared behind dark clouds, and they used torchlight to travel through the darkness.

Despite the late hour, Father Kiley had only just returned to his vicarage from visiting a sick parishioner but upon receiving Christine's message immediately accompanied the earl's servant to Montmarte.

Raoul walked near their great uncle and led the way, carrying Lucy's lifeless body, the folds of her white nightdress trailing to the ground. Behind them, Erik walked beside Christine, who carried one of Lucy's favorite dolls, the priest taking up the rear of the small and somber procession.

The family crypt was located on the north side of the maze, tucked snugly within a bower of tall trees, almost hidden from view. Two identical life-sized statues of male angels with heads bowed, each with both hands clutching swords held down before them, flanked the front of the stone mausoleum, as if standing sentinel and protecting the souls of the dead that lay at eternal rest within the tomb.

With the manner in which everything was so rushed, it did not surprise Christine to see through the closed gate that an open casket had been set on a nearby slab of stone. Raoul earlier told her that the earl prepared himself for such a tragedy ahead of time, and apparently that extended to preparations made. The suggestion of tiers of shelves and rectangular shapes in the darkness beyond the flickering torchlight were suggestive of Lucy's predecessors laid to rest.

With no servants in attendance, the staff having been ordered to remain indoors, the earl opened the gate and set the torch in a holder while Raoul gently laid Lucy inside the oblong box and crossed her wrists over her chest. Christine stepped forward once he retreated and tucked the favored doll beneath Lucy's arm.

The earl had been stalwart in his grim acceptance of his daughter's death, displaying no outward emotion since Christine's arrival to Montmarte, but at her farewell gesture, he bowed his head low and swallowed hard. She despised him for his indifference in his cruel attempts to manipulate her future, but witnessing his grief she could not help but reach out and lay a gentle hand of comfort upon his drooping shoulder.

Father Kiley was eloquent with the funereal rite spoken, his voice both gentle and kind. In the strong torchlight, Lucy appeared even more like a winter angel cast in white, like those statues outside, her face and hands bloodless, as if carved from the same smooth marble, her lips now a hint of faded blue, while her moonlit-fair hair glinted in the torch's flame.

Once the brief service was concluded, Christine cast one last sorrowful look at her young cousin then walked with Erik out of the crypt, leaving the earl behind for a private moment with his lost daughter.

Outside, Raoul stood a short distance away with a torch he'd taken and lit from the few that had lined the walls inside, and spoke to Father Kiley. The vicar turned once Christine emerged from the crypt.

"If I might have a word with you, Countess?" he inquired, before Erik could steer her past the men.

She sensed her husband's unease as he also stopped alongside her. For the first time that night she realized how difficult this must be for him, to be in such close proximity with one of God's ordained ministers, along with a self-professed slayer zealous to rid the world of all of his kind.

"I wish again to convey my gratitude toward you, and of course toward you, Count cel Tredat, for all you did to aid me during my stay at your castle."

Erik gave a curt, almost uncomfortable dismissive nod.

"My housekeeper shared with me news of your recent visit, my lady, and spoke of your generous donation. I want to assure you that the food was distributed to those who most needed it, including a young widow with three small children to feed. Her husband was one of the victims of the most recent animal attacks." He hesitated, looking both to Erik then Christine again. "And I wish again to express how deeply sorry I am for the sudden loss of your cousin. It is a terrible tragedy."

There was a question in those brown eyes, and she wondered what, if anything, Raoul told him. That he immediately spoke of Lucy after having referred to the attacks and the emphasis he gave the words suggested the vicar knew how she truly died. Though no one had spoken of the harsh reality, tiptoeing around the truth that lay buried in a quicksand of silence.

Christine nodded her acknowledgement, afraid to respond and say too much.

"I wish to extend the invitation to consult with me any time you wish," he went on compassionately, "and I hope to see you at morning services in the near future. The door is always open." He looked at Erik then Raoul. "For all of you."

Christine sensed her husband's discomfort escalate and gently slipped her hand into his.

"Thank you, Father Kiley," she said, with a faint smile, "and especially for coming here tonight, despite the late hour. Your assistance was greatly appreciated."

"Of course, my child. I was happy to oblige. May God bless and keep you."

"Our driver will take you back to the village," Raoul put in. "I'll walk you back." He looked at Christine. "You should go home and get some rest as well."

"But –" Christine glanced toward the crypt. "You don't mean to leave the earl here alone?"

"I will return once I have escorted Father Kiley to the carriage. Uncle told me earlier that he wished for time alone with her before…" He broke off abruptly, seeming to change his mind about what to say. "Before she was laid to rest."

Christine nodded but couldn't dispel a niggling sense of unease – a feeling that increased and would give her no peace on their return journey to the castle.

x

She rode in front of Erik, her back resting against his chest. He kept one arm secure around her middle, as if to protect her from any creatures that lurked in the night, and with her dark Angel so close, she felt safe. He did not hurry back, keeping the horse to a brisk walk. It gave Christine time to consider the night's erratic upheaval of emotion. From elation and bliss in reuniting with her husband and the triumph experienced to win his trust by allowing her to truly see him as he was, at last - to despair and grief at the loss of her young cousin. It was so much, too much to conceive…

Yet there was one matter that would not be silenced in her mind as she recalled previous words spoken.

"Earlier, in Lucy's room when I said it was too late, you said…"

"Perhaps not," he finished for her.

Christine turned her head though could not see his masked face clearly in the darkness.

"Do you think she has become like you?"

"It is impossible to tell without knowing all that led up to the final moments of her death. She was drained of blood, that much was evident. If she has been turned, her thirst will be tremendous when she awakens."

Her thirst

Christine briefly closed her eyes at the abject horror of his words.

If Lucy had become vampyre, she would crave mortal blood.

And if she had not, she was still lost to them through death.

Either way was too terrible to contemplate, but at least with the first, Erik could help her.

"How soon would it occur? The change."

"When the moon is full."

"But – that's tonight!" She looked up at the dark skies, no sign of the sun yet apparent, if one would dare shine on so grave an occasion. The moon of blood had slipped away, having done its worst.

"I mean to return to the crypt, once I see you safely home, and will wait there until the dawn. If it is as I believe, I will bring Lucy with me back to the castle. There, I can aid her in all she must know."

The relief she should feel by his somber declaration was weighted by the constant apprehension that altered into a grim omen of certainty – a knowing in her spirit.

"Erik –" She tightened her hand on his sleeve. "We must go back. Now. Something is wrong, I can feel it."

"You should rest after all you have endured. Do not fear, Christine. I will take care of the matter, I give you my word."

"I cannot rest, the need to act will not let me," she tried to explain the insistence burgeoning within her soul that would give her no peace. "Please, Erik, I am well recovered, as those moments we shared in my bedchamber should attest…" Her voice softened at the reminder, though her heart did not beat any less frantically due to the urgency that propelled her determination.

"Something is wrong," she repeated, "I know it, I can feel it."

His entire body tensed against hers and she thought he might refuse and continue their course to the castle, close enough now to see through the covering of tall trees, but he turned the stallion's head to retrace the path taken, bringing Cesar to a faster gait.

She wasn't sure he heard her whispered thanks, but she did hear his low warning –

"Take care, Christine. If Lucy has become as I am, she will be changed in more ways than one. You might not like what you find."

Christine assumed his grim counsel was connected to the little girl he once turned who could not reason or exercise caution, and that he feared with Lucy's childlike mind locked into eternal fantasy, she might become even more twisted, like Daria. It was a sobering notion but did not alter Christine's hope that Lucy might at least be given a second chance to live…

Upon their return, the crypt was dark, the gates not only closed but locked, and Erik's caveat proved horrendously true.

The snow on the ground barely reflected enough light toward the front of the crypt and the slab where Lucy's coffin lay, the lid still sitting to one side. Christine could only discern shapes in the darkness – and she gasped in dismay to recognize what was unquestionably a stake standing upright from within the coffin.

Erik growled beneath his breath at the sight and gripped the iron bars. Locks were no match for his vampyric strength, and once he wrenched the gate open, Christine rushed inside.

"Christine – wait!"

But her hands had already wrapped around the column of thick wood and, with what she now knew must be her own slayer strength, pulled out the stake that had been hammered into Lucy's chest. She recognized the tool of the slayer, the sharp, pointed stake Raoul had used in his teaching demonstrations, and in disgust Christine flung it away, across the chamber.

In the next instant, Lucy gave a sustained, painful inhalation and sat up abruptly, her pale eyes wild.

Christine's relief was tempered with wariness, to realize that her cousin was indeed one of the newly turned and therefore extremely dangerous…

"Christine," Erik ordered, coming up quickly behind and clasping her arm, pulling her back, "Step away."

Lucy shook her head slowly as if trying to make sense of what had happened. She gripped the sides of the casket.

"Nanny Beth," she whispered. "He hurt Nanny Beth!"

"Who? Lucy, what do you mean?"

Her words were ignored as Lucy bolted from her casket and with the speed of the vampyre escaped the open crypt.

"Erik!" Christine cried in concern.

"Wait here," he clipped.

Before he could turn to leave, she grabbed his arm. "I cannot do that."

She did not again explain the restlessness that compelled her to act but did not need to.

He swore fiercely beneath his breath and swept her up in his arms. "Hold fast."

Before she could question, he sped outside and toward the maze, as if knowing exactly where to find the newly awakened vampyre. The world flew past in a blur of black and white that sucked the breath from Christine, and apprehensively she tightened her hold around his neck. Within seconds, he came to a halt in the center of the maze and set her to her feet.

Lucy paced on the snow ahead, bare of foot, her back to them.

"Dead," she said frantically, though Christine sensed her cousin was unaware of their presence. "Dead! Here - it was here. I know it! I saw it!"

"Lucy!"

Christine moved toward her but before she could reach out, the girl spun around and hissed in threat, showing her fangs.

Christine fell back a step in shock to see her in such a changed state, and Lucy took the advantage to attack. Christine barely moved aside in time with the same speed and agility she used in the Paris alleyway, but Lucy came at her again immediately and with such force they flew back into a tall hedge. The serrated leaves and twigs scratched Christine's exposed neck and jaw and brought with it stinging pain.

With a strength inborn, she managed to stave off Lucy - who relentlessly lowered her head, fangs exposed.

"Strigoi!" Erik's voice boomed. "Moroaica!"

At his commanding words, Lucy flew back with a whimper and huddled to the ground, her hands covering her face.

"Please!" Her words trembled through her splayed fingers, "do not harm me. I don't understand what's happened or how I got here."

Christine exchanged a concerned glance with her grim husband, who did not appear as confused as she felt. Warily she approached her cousin a second time and slowly lowered herself to crouch beside the girl.

"Lucy, do you not know who I am?"

Apprehensively she lifted her head from her hands. Even in the scant light reflected by the snow, Christine could see Lucy's eyes glowed crystalline, almost colorless, her pupils mere pinpoints. The tips of her fangs were still apparent beneath her upper lip.

"You are the Master's wife," she said. "Christine."

Erik stepped forward. "Then you know who I am."

Lucy's manner took on a more humbled appearance. "You are my prince."

Christine looked between them, dazed by the course of events. The girl did not call him a dark faerie as she had in days past or even the Count. Lucy's evolvement into becoming a Dark One evidently gave her an innate sense of understanding their kind, and she recognized him as her sovereign.

"Do you remember anything else?" Christine asked.

"He killed her," she whispered, a tear rolling down her cheek. "He killed my Nanny Beth."

Christine looked up at Erik in surprise. "She remembers?"

He gave a tight nod. "Her entrance into vamyprism broke any compulsion previously experienced as a mortal."

Lucy shook her head in distress. "I don't understand. What has happened to me? I feel so cold. And confused, as if I've been walking in a fog for ages. Why do I feel so strange?"

Erik stepped closer to her. "We will save this discussion for when we return to the castle." He held out his gloved hand. "Do not be afraid, my dear, I will teach you all that you must know to survive. But we should leave here at once."

Lucy nodded like a little child and laid her hand in his glove. He helped her rise from the ground, while she continued to look at him in awe, then she glanced at Christine, as if uncertain.

"I'm sorry. I don't know what came over me. I didn't mean to…you have always been kind, that much I recall."

Christine smiled faintly. "It is alright, Lucy. We're family. Everything will be alright."

She hesitated then stepped forward to embrace her.

Perhaps if she had waited to offer reassurances, perhaps if she had allowed Erik to take them swiftly back to the castle, perhaps then, fate might have been kinder and the night could have turned out differently. Christine would never know what her restraint might have allowed – only what her decision would now cost them.

Lucy's arms lifted to return her hug. At first Christine failed to notice how the girl's small hands tightened against her spine. With her flesh chilled from the cold, did not realize that her neck was bleeding…

Unable to curtail the thirst, having never learned how, a wild thing newly born with a hunger too powerful to suppress, Lucy's hold constricted as she again reared her head back with fangs distended.

"LUCY - NO!" Erik shouted.

In the horrifying shock of the recurring moment, Christine went strangely numb. She couldn't think, couldn't reason or even attempt to ward off the attack – and she squeezed her eyes shut as Lucy brought her head down swiftly to her neck.

The bite never came. The sudden thud of Lucy's body pushing hard against hers as if struck from behind sent Christine back into the bushes a second time and brought her eyes open in confusion…

And her mouth parted wide in a silent scream.

Thin black lines branched over Lucy's pallid face, quickly spreading to encompass all of her skin. The glow in her crystalline eyes faded and she let out a soft, prolonged whimper.

"Lucy!" Christine cried out in horror.

She hurriedly shifted her arms, barely catching her cousin as she fell and sinking with her to the snowy ground. A crossbow bolt protruded from between Lucy's shoulder blades. Steam poured off her back.

"I…" she whispered, struggling to keep eye contact. Her skin darkened to the color of ash. "Chri-stine…"

"Shh, Lucy, it's alright," Christine reassured in a trembling voice, though they both knew the words to be a lie. "It's alright. You'll see. We'll take care of you, I promise..."

Lucy seemed barely aware, her gaze strangely distant.

"He can no longer hurt me...don't cry. At lastI am free…"

And with the exertion of those final whispered words, the light behind Lucy's eyes dimmed and completely clouded over. She gave a soft exhalation of breath and went limp in Christine's arms. Tears splashed down her cold cheeks as Christine lifted a hand that shook. With thumb and forefinger, she closed her cousin's eyes forever and gently lowered her to the snow.

"Be at peace, sweet Lucy," Christine whispered.

She whisked the tears from her eyes with her fingertips then lifted her head to glare across the enclosure. Fury hastened into alarm when she saw that her husband stood behind Raoul at the entrance of one of the tall hedgerows. Her cousin clutched a crossbow in one hand that hung down near his leg – the other was clamped over Erik's wrist, trying to pull away the gloved hand clutched around his throat that threatened to squeeze the life from him. Her heart jumped in horror to see what her cousin could not – the sharp tips of Erik's fangs.

"Erik - no!" she cried out, awkwardly hastening to her feet. "Please, I can take no more!" she added when it did not seem as if he would acknowledge her plea. "It is all too much!"

His eyes flashed toward her, and she could see the crimson glimmer within the gold. He emitted a disgusted growl and forcefully released the Vicomte with a push then whirled away, putting his back to her cousin.

Before Raoul could attempt to retaliate, she marched across the snow to stand before him.

"Why?" she insisted, her voice wobbling with her demand to know. "This goes beyond the pale - even for you!"

"How can you ask me that, Christine? You saw. She had become one of them," Raoul affirmed grimly, though she discerned a sheen of tears in his own eyes. "I thought I ended her before, but..." He shook his head in confusion then his expression grew darkly righteous. "She was going to bite you! I had to do it!"

"She was family!"

"She was a monster! -"

Anything else Raoul might have said was cut off as Christine's arm hauled back and she slapped him hard across the cheek, leaving three distinct scratches. Erik turned at the sound. He did not intervene, and she sensed his approval.

"She was one of the sweetest and most innocent girls I have known," she countered bitterly. "She had feelings!"

"Becoming a vampyre changed all that!"

"No, it did not. You are wrong about that, as you are wrong about so much else…"

His eyes narrowed. "You seem to know a lot about the undead for having just this night accepted the truth you denied all these weeks…" His voice rang with skepticism. He turned suddenly to face Erik, who thankfully had brought himself under control, fangs retracted and eyes again glowing golden behind the mask. "Perhaps due to you. With regard to all you witnessed here, you seem strangely unsurprised to be confronted with the immutable proof of monsters that prowl the night."

"I read what my mother wrote in her journal," Christine said quickly to divert Raoul's suspicion away from Erik. "She had much to say about the Dark Ones and believed they could feel pain and sorrow and joy – and every other feeling that mortals experience."

He snorted. "I had thought her more intelligent. At least you have finally come to accept the truth. I did what I did tonight to save you."

"She would not have hurt me," Christine insisted.

Lucy's fangs might have pierced skin, but Erik would have stepped in before any true damage could be done.

"You're a fool if you believe that."

"I would rather be a fool than what you've become!" she almost shouted back, beginning to lose her grip on control as the reality of what just occurred pierced through the protective wall of shock. "How could you be so damnably heartless?! She was our cousin, Raoul. Our flesh and blood kin!"

"Not any longer," he persisted. "That girl died in an upstairs bedchamber."

She ignored his stubborn excuses and swiped at the tears now rolling freely down both cheeks. "After this, I can tell you most assuredly - I want nothing to do with the Van Helsing curse! Ever!"

"Christine –"

"No," she took a step back when he attempted to reach out to her. "And from this night forward, I want nothing to do with you either!" she concluded harshly. "I never want to see you again."

"You can't mean that," he said in disbelief, the hurt vivid in his tone. "Christine, please…"

"Leave her be," Erik commanded.

In wounded frustration, Raoul turned on him. "I don't answer to you. She is my family!"

"And I am her husband. By choice, she wants nothing more to do with you and I intend to honor her wishes."

"Because you have put some sort of spell over her so that she cannot see things clearly -"

"STOP IT!" Christine screamed.

Both men went silent and turned to look at her, but she was beyond caring how hysterical she might appear.

"I cannot take any more of this! It is all too much – just – both of you – leave me alone!"

With her eyes swimming in tears, she could hardly see, but hurried past them and away, stumbling through the maze.

The Count swore fiercely and locked eyes with the fool boy's.

"Once Christine and I leave this place, you will forget we were here. You will return Lucy to her coffin and seal it, afterward forgetting all of what just occurred, only recalling the first time that you staked her corpse."

"I will forget," the Vicomte said in a dull monotone.

The Count snorted in disgust. The meddlesome boy deserved death and had come a hairsbreadth close to becoming its unwary recipient, but Christine would never forgive the violent act, however just. Of that, Erik was certain.

With the compulsion complete, he swiftly took off after his wife. She had not gotten far in the maze, thrashing about in the dark, hands slapping the tall bushes for balance as she went. Her quiet sobs wrenched what claim of a heart he had left.

He came silently up behind and swept her into his arms, ignoring her feeble protest as the air swirled around them in a violent whirlwind while he never ceased his rapid stride, transporting them back to the castle within those few steps.

Standing motionless, he held her close until her tears ebbed, then set her gently on her feet in the bedchamber they had so recently vacated what seemed a lifetime ago.

Wearily she sank to the bed. Erik remained fixed, watching her.

"She's gone," she whispered then looked up at him. "She truly is gone this time?"

He could not bear the inkling of hope that filled her voice and lit her damp eyes that perhaps she was mistaken, that some magical ritual existed to bring her cousin back from the dead a second time…

The crossbow bolt was silver-tipped, apparent by the desiccation of the girl's flesh, something Christine must realize deep within her soul yet struggled to accept –

It was final. There was no return from the second death.

He gave a stiff nod. "She is gone."

Christine sighed heavily and shook her head.

"It is all too much," she said for the third time that night.

In concern he noticed how she seemed to wilt where she sat, like a rose deprived of the nurturing it needed to exist.

"You must rest. Would you like me to send Mihaela in to draw you a bath?"

"No," she whispered and moved to recline on the unmade bed. She lay down on her side, still bundled in her cloak, and curled her knees up into her body with her hands clasped beneath her chin.

Erik hesitated then slipped off her shoes and brought the blanket up over her form, kissing her temple. She gave no response, only stared numbly into the distance. He considered sitting in the nearby chair, to watch as she slept, but decided to give her solitude since she had not asked him to stay.

xXx

Downstairs, Erik sent for Anton with instructions to take the wagon and retrieve his horse from Montmarte, taking care not to be seen. He then put his churning mind to troublesome matters of which he had been informed were taking place in his homeland. He wrote two letters of correspondence with his instructions, stamping them with his seal and setting them aside to give to Gregor to dispatch on the morrow, which was not too far on the horizon.

Concern for Christine prevented him from doing much else. That she was grief-stricken was understandable. Death had become a common word to him over the centuries, but he, too, felt distressed over the loss, and there were very few mortals for whom he cared enough to be moved by their demise. Yet this went far deeper, a change in Christine's manner, a brittle emptiness as if she had reached a point where she might soon shatter…

And he feared if that were to happen what remained of her pure and trusting soul would be unsalvageable.

Pulling his lips into a grim line, the Count poured himself a stiff drink and walked to the music room and the window there. He stared out over land and forest, watching as the dismal surroundings lightened to gray then altered to blue, stepping away only when the red disc of the unwelcome sun filtered through the black silhouette of the trees. Releasing the sash that tied up the heavy drapery, he allowed it to swing to the floor and block out the intrusive daylight.

He sensed her movements before he heard her footsteps, so attuned to the fluctuating rhythm of her heart, even from a distance. And he knew she had gained no further slumber, her heartbeats never having achieved a slow and steady pace.

When he turned, he registered no surprise to see Christine standing in the doorway, still wearing her cloak. Nor did he experience shock to see the carpetbag she clutched in one hand.

Slowly he set his empty glass down on a nearby table. She stared at him, uncertain.

"So then," he said at last, his voice calm, a masquerade to the whirlwind of chaotic emotion coursing through him. "You are leaving me."

Her expression grew troubled, and she averted her gaze to the floor.

"I always knew this day would come," he went on dryly, "though I was foolish not to expect it so soon, and give our union the one full year agreed upon."

This brought her attention swiftly to his. "I am not leaving you, Erik, not really, not in the sense of putting an end to our marriage. What I told Raoul doesn't apply to you. I want to see you again."

"But you are leaving?"

He narrowed his eyes in suspicious question, and she walked further into the room, closer to where he stood, setting down her carpetbag beside her.

"I cannot stay in Berwickshire, not after all that has happened. I need to return to Paris and my life at the theatre, to return to some semblance of normalcy. Otherwise I fear I may lose what hold on sanity I have left."

He had only just pondered the threat to Christine's soul and certainly did not wish to see her suffer further. Curtly he nodded, agreeing with her decision – his own backlog of work be damned.

"Very well. We will leave for Paris on the afternoon train."

"No, Erik…" She hesitated when his eyes sharpened on her. "I wish to go alone. Please do not misunderstand, I love you," she added hastily, "but I need time away from all this."

"From me," he bitterly corrected.

"From all of it," she insisted. "The constant interaction with vampyres and slayers and all that constitutes what I once so foolishly believed a fairy tale. Another dark story of the North." She gave a wobbly little laugh devoid of humor and he heard the tears that lined the fringe of it. "I lost my mother and father to that life. Days ago, I found you staked and so damnably near death – and last night my young cousin died – not once, but twice! – and as I held her in my arms, unable to do anything but watch, her sweet face withered before my eyes!" Her last words hitched on a sob.

He swore softly and exhaled a harsh breath, moving forward to embrace her. She did not resist but burrowed into him, allowing more tears of grief and confusion and pain to wet his waistcoat.

"Why?" she whispered. "I don't understand..."

To what she referred, he did not ask, only held her tightly.

After a time he pulled back to withdraw a black silk handkerchief from his pocket and dabbed it gently against her lashes and cheeks. "There, there, my Angel. Forgive my thoughtlessness. I told you at the onset of our union that when you wish to leave I'll not stop you, and I will abide by my word. But Christine, you are not going alone. I will send Mihaela and Anton with you. It is too dangerous for you to travel unaccompanied."

She nodded, albeit reluctantly, and he turned up her chin with his curled index finger.

"I shall make the arrangements, and you will visit the weapons room and procure something suitable. I have a dagger mounted on the wall there that bears a blade of pure silver, its hilt encrusted with rubies. Take it to replace what you have lost."

Once more, she gave a small resigned nod.

His eyes dropped to her bare neck and the ruff of the collar at her throat. "Your medallion, you did not have it on last night, did you?" He knew that sometimes she tucked it beneath her bodice.

"I prefer not to wear it when I'm with you. I didn't feel the need."

"And now there is one. Wear it at all times. Promise me."

Grudgingly, she gave a third nod.

"Do not fear, Christine…" He brushed a knuckle along her cheek. "All will be well."

This time she did not nod, only looked at him, her red-rimmed eyes wide and glistening and fraught with trepidation that his words might not prove true.

"You will be safe within the Opera House. This I know."

The urge to press his lips to hers one last time proved too powerful and he inclined his head slowly, hesitant lest she move away. Instead, she lifted herself on her toes to meet him, their kiss becoming more passionate as she clutched his lapels and drew her body closer to his while he buried his hands in her thick, loose ringlets…

Erik pulled away suddenly, lest he strip and ravage her on the spot, the sofa readily available – the beast inside begging him to make use of it – but he did not believe she would welcome such intimate advances, not at this time.

A prudent decision, when only seconds later, his manservant entered the room.

"Forgive me, Master," he said somewhat gruffly, averting his gaze beyond them. "The missive you have been expecting has arrived. I laid it on your desk."

"Thank you, Gregor. Has Anton returned with Cesar?"

"Yes, my lord."

"Excellent. Tell your nephew and niece I wish to speak with them in the library."

With a deferential nod, Gregor left.

"I shall go and see to the necessary arrangements," Erik said, this time depositing a tender kiss to her brow.

"It won't be forever," she whispered, "I promise."

He gave her a faint, cryptic smile. "On that, we are of one accord."

The Count left Christine staring after him and hurried to embark on what promised to be a long day's toil, with more than one set of vital preparations to be made…

xXx


A/N: So, at least the chapter ended on a somewhat positive note. Yes? : ) (Heh heh heh) Does that make up for the loss of Lucy (which was sadly necessary to story, and very hard to write)?