Stefan examined the hipflask: unscrewed the top, smelled the liquid inside. Pure, strong Black Magic. He tried to figure out where she had gotten the wine, when he suddenly realized that he was parched—desperately thirsty—and he took two long swigs.
It braced him. He looked up into Mrs. Flowers’ blue eyes, which usually were amiable but vague, and just now were more like two blue-hot stars. “And I don’t suppose I can get you to reconsider this tragic course you’ve embarked upon,” she said.
“No, you can’t. I’m a danger to Elena—and that means I have to go away.”
“You’re going to need more human blood if you really mean to erase yourself from this world.”
“No. I won’t. I’ll manage.”
Mrs. Flowers just shook her head, her eyes sad. “Well, in any case, I give you my permission to hunt on my property, whether the prey goes on two legs or four, or flies.”
“Thank you. And now I really should—” Stefan stopped halfway out of the chair. He sat down again. “Mrs. Flowers. Have you spoken to Mama or Grandmama about this?”
Mrs. Flowers’ Mama and Grandmama had departed from this earthly realm in centuries past, but Mrs. Flowers still remained in contact with them. They could see the spiritual dominion, and were occasionally helpful.
The white-haired woman sighed. “Yes, Stefan, I have spoken to both dear Mama, and dear Grandmama, too. I’m afraid they’re being a bit oracular today. Mama says—she was quite a fan of the playwright Christopher Marlowe; the one, I’m afraid, who wrote about . . . well, Mephistopheles, you know.”
Stefan kept his face grave. “The Devil, in other words.”
“A devil, at least, although I always think that people are more unpredictable than demons. A devil will always do the things he’s done before. In any case, she quoted this famous bit that Mephistopheles said:
‘Why this is hell, nor am I out of it.
Think’st thou that I who saw the face of God,
And tasted the eternal joys of Heaven,
Am not tormented with ten thousand hells,
In being depriv’d of everlasting bliss?’”
Stefan no longer had to force a grim expression. The words sank into his subconscious immediately. He said: “Do you know what that means?”
“Aside from the obvious? I’m afraid I haven’t a clue, Stefan dear.”
“I see. Thank you.” Stefan found that he was unconsciously twisting the lapis lazuli ring he wore. He stopped himself immediately. No vampire could survive sunlight wit
hout a lapis talisman, and he had long ago learned not to do anything that might cause it to slip off.
“I’m very sorry,” Mrs. Flowers said, “but Grandmama’s communication is quite obscure. She says this:
‘Now the hungry lion roars
And the wolf behowls the moon,
Whilst the heavy ploughman snores,
All with weary task fordone . . .
‘If we shadows have offended,
Think but this, and all is mended—
That you have but slumbered here
While these visions did appear . . .
‘Give me your hands if we be friends,