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THE LIVING DAYLIGHTS

Genevieve supposed her luck was running true to form For five hundred years, she&039;d reckoned Count Dracula the worst person in the world He incarnated everything bad, everything despicable, everything that was not her Noith Vlad Tepes - or whoever he was - finally dead, it turned out there was so Vampire

Mater Lachry Charles&039;s books was a volume by a modern alchemist - Fulcanelli? Varelli? - that had a section on the Three Mothers She considered searching through the boxes but decided against it

This time, there was no real need to find out as behind the curtain Charles was dead Dracula was dead Genevieve wasn&039;t a detective or an avenger Kate wasn&039;t going to take the blame She didn&039;t care who&039;d killed the Prince No one actually cared

She wasn&039;t going to be in the cityelse, there was the Crimson Executioner to worry about

She sat in the dark in the apartly easy to put away all of Charles&039;s life He&039;d only left things behind He hione

Truly dead She wondered what that would be like?

Suicide wasn&039;t in her But each year was a weight added to her heart How many more centuries would there be for her? She&039;d read On the Beach It was frighteningly possible that there would be no round zero, warm and nosferatu alike would be vaporised Even Dracula had never conceived of the Hydrogen Bomb She dreaded what such weapons would have meant in the arsenals of the chieftains of her war her Italian lover She was still wrapped up in her odd search for answers, but would learn Genevieve had been the sae It took a warm lifeti it, wondering what it was all for, what it was about Who had the answers for Kate? A fortune-teller, a priest, a little girl, a warenius?

For Kate&039;s sake, she&039;d stay awhile Until the smaller mysteries were cleared up It was the least she could do

The taste of Charles was fading in hertrace was the last of him His voice had whispered in her mind these last years Its absence was silence

She drifted to the balcony Charles&039;s chair wasn&039;t there She glided to the spot where it&039;d often been and looked down at the street, at the view Charles had favoured

A tall, thin man in black stood on the other side of the road, under a streetlamp He looked up at her with clear blue eyes It was Father Merrin

The priest crossed the road and Genevieve went back into the apartment to let him in A oons had broken

&039;Thank you for co, Father,&039; she said &039;I know you&039;ve been warned away froe&039;

Merrin took off his broad black hat The wound on his forehead was neatly plastered

&039;Not away from you,&039; he said &039;From your friend, Miss Reed&039;

Genevieve offered the priest tea There was a package of Lipton&039;s in the kitchen Edwin Winthrop had sent Charles monthly food parcels: Fortnum & Mason&039;s marmalade, Cadbury&039;s chocolate, a secretary&039;s ho tea while the priest silently took in the packed-up belongings and the dae done by Brastov&039;s assassins

&039;This isn&039;t about the Mother of Tears,&039; Merrin said

&039;No Well, I don&039;t suppose so&039;

&039;You have had a loss Please acceptabout God or Heaven, for which she was grateful She wanted to tell this man about Charles