Bride of the Night
CHAPTER THIRTEEN

FINN WAS QUIET, PENSIVE, as they rode.
"Many people think that the seance craze-that the mediums and fortune-tellers are all fakers just trying to prey upon the bereaved for the money," Tara said.
He looked over at her and smiled. "And many people believe that dreams are nothing more than our thoughts and our fears doing battle in the night."
"But you believe in the future being foretold?"
"I'm not sure. I know that there are those around us-like Pete-who have an instinct and know when someone is...different. I can usually tell when someone is different, even when they were those who had been helped, like my father. I can't understand it, because I'm so afraid that it is someone who is with us-or who was at least on that island."
"You found nothing unusual about the men when you sailed, or when we came to the island?"
He cast her a glance, his brow arched and a rueful smile on his lips. "When we sailed, I was seeking a blockade runner, not an unworldly being. And on the island, I was hoping that we were discovered and rescued by a Union ship rather than a Southern. And as to Elsi, yes, I believe that she has a power to recognize the world around her. Can she really see into the future? Nothing but the future will tell."
He reined in for a moment, looking up at the sky.
"Home?" she asked him.
"Your home," he told her.
"You'll need to be careful, you know."
"And why is that?"
"I've been among your people," she told him. "And now, you are among mine."
"I think the fortune-teller likes me now," he said, still smiling.
"But you must admit, you should be careful, perhaps even extremely courteous to me. You are among my people. They will defend my honor."
"Tonight, they're all one," he said, chuckling at her light tone. "And I do believe that I've been extremely courteous, except perhaps when we first met. But then, when we met in Gettysburg, you were frightfully rude."
"You wanted to arrest me-for wanting to give the president a scarf."
"And if you were charged with protecting him, wouldn't you have come after anyone who was so eager to get so close?"
"I like to think I'd be a better judge of character."
"It's a pity we can't all judge character so swiftly as you. Which way?"
"Toward Whitehead," she told him.
They rode together. Roosters and other livestock ambled about, but there were no children out on the road, and the few businessmen and passersby they encountered acknowledged them grimly, and hurried about their business in the waning daylight hours.
They reached Pete's tavern, and their home. It was a large whitewashed structure, built some forty years earlier. Front steps led to an entry hall. To the left was a staircase that led to the rooms above, and to the right, through an arched doorway, was the tavern. As they entered, Pete came hurrying out, a large satchel swung over his shoulder.
"Provisions," he said. "We need to leave quite soon. Agent Dunne, if you'd see to getting these tied on to one of the satchels?"
"Yes. Is there more?"
"One more. Coffee and kerosene heaters, and some fresh-baked biscuits for those who stay awake to keep watch. I'll get the rest," Pete said.
"I'm going to grab a few things from my room," Tara said, and hurried upstairs.
She decided that she could afford the time to swiftly wash up. She poured water from the ewer at the washstand and scrubbed her face, and then hastily changed her clothing. There was a knock at her door and she opened it. Finn was standing there.
He smiled. "You look-"
"Yes?" she asked, surprised that the question was a little breathless.
"Clean," he said enviously.
"Oh, yes, well. Clean. Thank you."
He laughed, reached out and touched her cheek, and suddenly drew her to him, holding her in a way that was oddly tender and gentle, almost as if she were fragile, and yet, he did it with a great strength. She didn't breathe; being with him, touching him, could stir so many emotions-passion such as she had never imagined, and then this, something she had felt so seldom in her life. Cherished.
"I can't imagine that you've gone through life without a slew of compliments, my dear Miss Fox. You look clean. And lovely. Glorious, actually. The sun setting against the color of your hair creates a dazzling halo greater than that cast by any heavenly body alone. Your eyes are those of the mesmerist, of every siren known to man in the length of the history of the world. And your face! Ah, like that of Helen of Troy, you could sink a thousand ships. Ah, my love, excuse the last-we've both seen a few too many sunken ships," he said, moving away and meeting her eyes.
"You're mocking me," she said.
"Never," he told her, stroking hair from her face. "There were times today, far from cemeteries and soldiers, when I could imagine that there was no war, that we faced no unholy enemy. I thought what it would be like to live in this strange paradise with the sway of the tree branches and the scent of the ocean in the air. I've seen the seafarers and fishermen, seen all the colors of the people, heard their accents and their languages, and I know why you find this to be such a unique and special home. I would never mock you. It's that my own words trip me up and I'm thrown back into reality, where all we can do is pray for an end to this war, and for safety from this unholy enemy."
She looked at him, marveling that someone she had once thought so brutally single-minded and austere could have such dreams of a different world-and touch her as he did.
"Tara! Finn!"
Pete's voice broke into her thoughts, reminding her of the world they did live in. Finn caught her hand.
"We must go," Pete said.
"It's dusk," Finn said huskily. "The sun is going down. I should have sent Pete up to get you before."
"Why didn't you?" she asked.
He grinned. "I wanted to see your home, your wonderful abode. And it's a beautiful old house, a fine tavern, and your room... That's a picture of your mother, isn't it?" he asked, pointing to the dresser.
She nodded, feeling a tightening in her throat. Lorna Douglas Fox had been stunning in life, more so because she had such a sweet and gentle smile. The warmth in that smile had been caught in the one poor photograph that had been taken of her just before the war had begun.
"She was lovely, too," Finn said. "Let's go-before Pete thinks I'm up to no good."
"He's my friend, not my father," she said.
Finn laughed. "He may not be your father, but I believe he'd kill any man for you. And Richard may not be your blood brother, but I believe that he'd do the same. You're a very lucky young woman in those who love you-father, brother, friend or other. They do so with a passion."
Taking her hand, they walked quickly down the stairs. Pete was waiting for them on the porch, holding the door open.
As ever, his strong features were stoic and impassive. She knew that Pete had decided that whoever-whatever-Finn might be, he was a man to be respected. She was glad. He wasn't her father, but he meant so much to her.
A second large satchel was now attached to the saddle of the mare, but they were just blocks from the church, so none of them mounted the horses. Pete looked at the sky as they walked along the streets.
The air was crisp and cool; the breeze was coming in from the northwest, and it seemed as if it were something so clean, it couldn't possibly allow for a whisper of evil upon the night.
A block from the church, Pete stopped, and signaled for the two of them to do the same. The gelding he led neighed, pushing against Pete's back, as if even the horse knew they needed to reach their destination.
But Pete set a hand on the gelding's nose. "I nearly forgot. There is a drink for you both in the satchel the mare carries. You've been facing a great deal each night. You need to keep up your strength."
Finn thanked him and found the two canteens that Pete had prepared. He watched them steadily as they each swallowed down the contents.
"Now," he said, "you're ready for the night."
The church bells were ringing, and the streets were filled with the stragglers who had not made it in earlier. They arrived with the strangest solemnity. People greeted the three of them with a grim welcome. They were courteous, as if it was a Sunday morning and they were all heading into the Anglican mass. And, yet, of course, it was because the skies had gone silent. Even the wildlife and the trees listened, and waited. Father Timothy had aged overnight, so it seemed. He was grave, and strong, and ready to greet his flock. The church had only a couple pews remaining, so most found places on the floor, and sat in family groups. Many had brought their suppers with them, most were willing to share.
Father Timothy spoke to his flock, and gave a blessing that night. He thanked God for bringing them through the darkness and the shadow of death the night before, and asked that He guard over all in His house, the church, that night. That He watch over the island of Key West-all of His children, no matter the great divide ripping apart the country. Everyone answered with a solemn, "Amen."
Finn sat with his back to the wall. His eyes were half-closed as he listened.
"Finn?" Tara asked.
He opened his eyes and looked at her. He smiled, caught her hand and squeezed it.
"What were you thinking?" she asked him.
"That there's hope."
He didn't mean just for the night, Tara realized.
The hours passed. Mrs. Hawkins came by, slightly shy, but determined to offer them some of the biscuits and chicken she had brought. She was eager to please, to do something for the people who had saved her life, and she, Pete and Finn gratefully accepted. Pete set up his portable kerosene stove and brewed coffee, and the men who would be on guard first came to drink it.
Children lay on pallets of blankets and clothing set up by their parents and the church. Some played with dice and jacks, some read and a few of the men played cards. Tonight, no simple pleasures were considered to be sins.
Finn was restless; every few hours, he spoke to the men standing at the windows, and when there was a disturbance outside-the raucous cry of a dozen roosters and the squeal of a pig-he took his sword and went out to investigate. Gone for several long minutes, which seemed like eons, when he returned, he noted that a horse had broken free, frightened the rooster and the rooster had attacked the pig.
Somewhere along the line, Tara drifted to sleep.
When she did so, she was far away from the church. She found herself in an elegant dining room, seated across the table from President Lincoln. Mary was there, at his other side, and she could see that two men were standing by the door, watching inward, their eyes never leaving the crowd or the other diners. There were soldiers milling around at the bar; they chatted, enjoying a drink and the music of a single violinist who played softly from a small corner stage.
But they were all aware of her.
"It's amazing what war does for some," President Lincoln said, carefully cutting off a piece of meat. "This fine capitol was nearly as small a city as your Key West, my dear-all but empty during the summer months when the heat is liquid and the mosquitoes infest. But come the war it's become mammoth, with hotels and restaurants doing a booming business, as you see. The Willard does exceptionally well. It is one of my favorite places to dine. One day, I'm sure, I will bring you here."
He was speaking to her. Mary Lincoln didn't seem to hear him. She was concentrating on a wayward pea that was escaping her fork.
"It's a beautiful restaurant," Tara said. "But-"
"Ah!" Lincoln said, and he set his fork down. "You're worried about me again. I must go out. I am leading these people, and I have led so many to death. What do I say to the mother who lost her son fighting this great battle if I don't take a few risks myself-the risk of telling them how sorry I am for their losses? Excuse me..."
One of the officers who had been milling at the bar came to the table, bending down to speak softly to the president. Lincoln listened gravely.
The officer excused himself to Mary and left the table.
"Mr. Lincoln, good news, I pray?" Mary asked him.
He nodded. "Even my good news is sad news, I fear. Our troops were attacked in Florida by the Cow Cavalry there. Our positions were not taken, so that is fortunate, of course." He smiled, squeezed her hand and paid heed to a waiter hovering by him. "I would, indeed, sir, enjoy more coffee. Thank you." The waiter hurried away.
"February turns to March. As the year comes closer to spring and the snows melt, so the armies will move in force. Again, I will go to sleep each night seeing an army of dead soldiers walk before me, and I will pray that in death they do not despise me. That in the end, when I meet them in heaven, I will be able to say, 'Forgive me, that I called upon you for your life, but look at the great nation you created.' And even then, I know, when I am called to my rest, I will meet the Confederate boys, and the generals-some of them old friends from different days-and I will have to explain that I believed, in my heart, that slavery is an abomination, and that we could not continue to expand our nation and make beasts of our African brothers. I will tell them that I know that they died for honor, be that honor mistaken, and that in God's eyes, all men are truly equal."
"What's that, dear?" Mary Lincoln asked. Her attention seemed to be elsewhere; perhaps she still thought of the son she had lost during the war, and lived in her own realm of pain.
"I was thinking that this fowl we are dining on is quite fine, Mrs. Lincoln," the president said. "And I wish that I knew that our men in the field ate so well."
"Stand your course, Mr. Lincoln, stand your course," Tara said.
"Rest assured, my child, this evening all is well. As you can see," he added, coming closer to Tara and whispering as if they were conspirators in a joke, "the door is guarded by two gentlemen from the Pinkerton agency, and there are lieutenants and officers abounding at the bar. I am praying that this is the spring of good hope for the nation. One nation, under God. Indivisible, as it's said."
He leaned closer to her again. "There can be sweet life and better times ahead. Look at my poor Mary. Some think that she is unbalanced, and God help me, the death of our little Willie certainly made us both so. But there could be no better wife. Her family members fight for the South, and she stands by my side, supporting me with her whole heart. Be kind to her when you meet-those around me can't always see clearly. She is my support. We lean on each other." He eased back. "All is well this night," he told her.
The restaurant, with its sounds of chatter, clinking silverware and the soft strains of the violin began to grow dim.
After some moments of unbodied colors and sound, Tara awoke.
When she did so, she saw that light was coming through the church windows in a splendid palette of pinks and yellows and oranges and golds.
She blinked and realized that she had been sleeping on Finn's shoulder, and that he was looking at the colors of the sun himself.
Father Timothy was at the door. He opened it, and the light burst brilliantly into the church.
"It's morning, and all is well. We have passed through the night. Hallelujah!" Father Timothy said. "What a beautiful day." It was a beautiful day. All the more so because the night had been uneventful.
Finn felt all the better when they'd left the church and gotten the tub out over at Pete's tavern, and he'd had a good freshwater bath. He'd readied himself hurriedly despite the longing to savor the water, and he'd headed out to speak with Captain Calloway and Captain Tremblay at the fort, regarding their sailing plans, while leaving Tara to gather a few more belongings, and indulge in a bath herself.
Tara was enjoying her last time with Pete before heading north, uncertain of when she would return. Richard had been escorted to Pete's tavern to say his own goodbyes. Had Finn sovereign power over the situation, he would have seen to it that Richard was released. But he didn't; no real ill would come to the man. He would be imprisoned for the remainder of the war, but Finn could arrange things so that he was kept in Washington, D.C., where he and others could see to his welfare.
Adding to his hopeful mood, Finn believed what the elderly Haitian woman had told him. Once they left, the island would be safe. At least, as safe as it was before.
The evil was waiting. And the evil would set sail with them.
Still, despite that fact, there was always the possibility that a diseased person had escaped their notice, and so he stood with Father Timothy again, going over everything that the people needed to know-how they must look out for anyone who fell sick, and how they must deal with the dead in the next weeks, even in the case of an accident witnessed by a dozen persons. He knew he repeated himself, but he had to make things clear to Father Timothy.
Father Timothy listened.
And when he was done, Father Timothy said, "You've taught me and our people well, Agent Dunne. We will do all you say. Pete will be here, my mainstay who knows and understands. The war continues, so I doubt that the soldiers and the civilians will maintain a real friendship, but they touched hands when the need arose. We are all, as I've said, children under God."
Father Timothy seemed to have his flock well in hand. Finn bid him farewell and headed to Seminole Pete's to collect Tara and Richard.
Tara hugged Pete for a long time. Pete and Richard solemnly shook hands.
"Until we meet again," Richard said.
"The Great Father will watch over you," Pete assured him.
They embraced.
Pete looked at Finn. "Protect her well."
"With my life," he promised.
Pete nodded.
They all mounted up and returned to the fort. The men were assembled-all those who had previously sailed with them and two new seamen, Andrew Fletcher and Bjorn Gustafson. Bjorn had landed in the United States Navy within a year of arriving in the United States. Andrew Fletcher hailed from Tennessee, but believed passionately in the Union-and in the abolishment of slavery. Finn was glad to have them along.
It was still early morning when the tenders sailed out to the new ship they would take north, the USS Freedom, a three-mast steam clipper. She was equipped with twelve guns, and ready to take on a fight.
The supplies were loaded; barrels were filled with salted beef, fish and pork, beans, potatoes, limes and fresh produce from the island. There were barrels of rum, sugar and fresh water, canvas sacks of fresh coconuts, and fishing poles. They were also well supplied with munitions, matches and gunpowder-just in case they should be lured into battle.
Finn made a point of speaking with every member of the crew, largely to see if he might sense which one might be a traitor. Captain Tremblay now knew of his suspicions, and Finn had impressed upon him that while they were at sea, they had to discover the truth of each man in the command.
Finn wanted to believe that the vampire who had caused the infection had died in the many battles that had taken place-on the deserted island, and Key West.
But he knew that it wasn't true. And even if he did, he couldn't possibly take that kind of a risk.
And so, an order had been proclaimed: no man was to do anything without two other men nearby. It would be groups of threes, always. They were not even to sleep alone; even on a quiet night, there would be three awake watching over the bunks while three slept. With Captain Tremblay enforcing it, the men didn't question the order.
Dr. MacKay listened quietly, arms crossed over his shoulders, grave as these boarding orders were given. "And I had thought," he said wryly, once the men were dismissed and sent to stations, "that it was difficult being called upon to perform amputations on the battlefield. I'd not thought it possible to face something worse."
"It could be precaution for nothing," Finn said.
MacKay looked at him with skeptical eyes. "Perhaps. But I, like the others, intend to be nowhere unless it is in a group of three. What I don't understand, Pinkerton agent, is how you haven't fathomed who this person is. You seemed to have a grasp on the disease earlier. You've guided us in the way to survive its threat."
Finn didn't want to tell him that the creature causing the problems was probably extremely old-perhaps hundreds of years old-and a full-blooded vampire. He didn't think it would help the doctor's concern to know that they were up against a combatant likely much stronger than Finn himself.
Fortunately, as a Pinkerton, he knew enough to be confident that strength alone didn't win fights. Much more important was an agility of tactics, and the intelligence to wield strategy. He hoped this meant that he held the advantage.
"Perhaps the instigator is dead!" the old doctor said.
"Perhaps," Finn replied. "But we don't know that."
Further questions from MacKay would be put off; the captain was shouting orders and men were hoisting the sails. A cool, crisp winter's breeze meant that they were going to catch the wind. Richard Anderson worked the sails with the other men, and none seemed to be displeased that their prisoner was such an excellent seaman. The USS Freedom had once been the Mary Jane, carrying passengers on transatlantic voyages. She had been overhauled to become a warship, but she still offered certain amenities not found on other ships, such as grand or master cabins both stern and midship on the top deck. One, of course, had been granted to the only woman aboard.
As they got under sail, Finn walked along toward the cabin door. He knocked, and Tara threw the door open. He entered and closed the door behind him, leaning against it.
"I'm not beholden to the 'three together anywhere at any time' rule?" Tara asked him.
"Not so long as you're in your cabin. With the door locked, of course," he said.
She smiled at him, but her face grew solemn. "Do you still think that he's among us?"
"I'm afraid so."
"But one slip, one mistake, and this creature infects one man, and then another and then-"
He set his fingers gently on her lips. "We couldn't leave a man behind, not when there is a civilian population on Key West."
"I know. Thank you."
"It wasn't just for you. I think that the man is a traitor-he hasn't been caught or noted because he's been biding his time. He's known about the Union movement, and he managed to get the correspondence to the man we're holding in Washington, and made it appear that he was a Confederate blockade runner."
Tara walked to the cabin's elegant little windows. Drapes closed securely to keep out the sun-and the view of the sailors working on the ship. But Tara drew them aside.
"Richard is out there," she said worriedly.
"And Richard is intelligent and wary," Finn assured her.
"You should let him go," Tara said softly.
"I can't, and you know it. You're technically my prisoner still, yourself, but it definitely appears that neither of you is Gator, and therefore, as a blockade runner, Richard is Captain Tremblay's prisoner."
"He's fought next to you."
Finn took a deep breath. "Tara, it's nearly spring. God help us, but this war can't last much longer. He'll be safer in prison."
She bit her lip, and didn't reply, looking out the window.
He felt awkward. "Well, 'tis bright sunlight, and there's a day to be sailed."
"Of course," she murmured stiffly.
He wanted to walk to the window. He wanted to draw her to him, and God help him, he wanted to make love again, feel the life of her beneath him, and the passion and moments of beauty that seemed to make breathing worthwhile.
It didn't seem at all appropriate while he could hear the men scurrying about, Captain Tremblay's orders on the air and the shouts of compliance and organization.
"I'll come back," he told her softly.
"Ah, well, I'm not one to sit in a cabin all day, you know. I'll come out soon, as well," she said, still looking out at the action.
He hesitated. She looked beautiful as she gazed out the window, her eyes bright as they caught the sunlight, her hair gleaming red and gold and her chin held high. He longed to walk over to her, just to touch her shoulders. He wished he knew her thoughts, and he wished that she would turn to him and just smile.
"What if there's more than one man?" she whispered.
"There's one, just one. Of that, I'm certain. One very old, very accomplished and very calculating...monster. But if the men hold to the rule, if he tries to act again, we'll know immediately."
"And if he doesn't?"
"He will," Finn told her. "He will, of that I'm certain. And I will be ready for him."