“What do we do, Iago? I’m afraid for him.”
“We trust in him, wholeheartedly. He is the last hope for you, for this family. He has never wanted anything more than to see you well, to see you cured. You must have faith, Master Radu. And you should speak with the woman. She knows things in the way Roman does, knows Romanian, knows the ways of our people. If it is her blood that will cure you, you need to establish her trust.”
Radu glanced at Isabella Marin. She was staring at the ceiling, unblinking. Iago was right, but speaking with other people frightened him. But at least she could both speak and understand his mother tongue.
“Go, Master Radu, go, you must.”
He crossed the room and sat next to her. He didn’t look at her, but he said in Voynichese, “Our people have been subjugated for years. Feared. Misunderstood.”
“Our people?”
“Vampires.”
Isabella looked up at him. She hadn’t realized before, she’d been too frozen with fear, but now she saw this twin was ill, very ill, and he was uncomfortable with her. Because she was a woman? Or because he wasn’t comfortable with people? Now he believed he was a vampire? She said, her voice flat, “You’re a man, not a vampire.”
“I am a descendant of Vlad Dracul, and I think you are, too. I come from an illegitimate line of men who are drawn to blood. This blood disorder runs in the family. It always appears in the twins. One has it, and one does not. One twin is strong, the other weak. You have no idea what it’s like, either.”
“Tell me.”
“There’s a burning inside me. It’s hard to explain, but it’s there, always there. Roman and I have experimented with so many ways to transfuse, even drinking the blood of possible matches, as the legends say. Nothing has worked to heal me, but it’s kept me alive much longer than any of my predecessors. Of course, I’ve been developing new treatments for years. None have benefitted me, but we do share them with the world. I’ve saved countless lives.”
“You’ve killed people before me to take their blood?”
Radu said simply, “It is the only way. Roman researches and selects Romanians who seem possible, he brings me their blood, and we experiment.”
Isabella couldn’t help herself. “I know you are ill, that you are afraid of dying, but so am I. So was the man I was supposed to marry, yet your twin murdered him, in cold blood, for no higher reason than he was there! And all the other people your brother has murdered for their blood? Do you believe your life is more important than theirs? Than mine?”
“Roman says I cannot die, I am too valuable to humanity. Every human we sacrifice is to provide me longer life to continue with my work. This man with you last night, he wasn’t really all that important, now was he?”
If only she could have leaped on him, killed him with her bare fists. He believed what he’d said as he believed his brother, utterly. Another tack then. Isabella said, “Surely you must know by now I’ve been missed. My employers will have reported my absence to th
e police.”
He shrugged. “It is nothing to us. Roman has eyes and ears everywhere.”
“You can’t be serious.”
“You think I’m lying? Our software is on every computer that matters. We can look into any of them, at any time. We own you. We own the government. We own the world.”
“And yet here you are, locked away, shuttered inside these rooms, unable to leave, or love. I think the world owns you.”
He shrugged. “Who needs to move in the real world? It’s dirty and cruel. I live in cyberspace. I live in the crevasses most people forget. When they stopped worshipping in churches and started worshipping their screens, I became their god.”
“Like your brother, you are mad.”
“I am far from mad. I told you: I’ve spent my life looking for a cure for this affliction, my family affliction. So many generations with twins, one strong, one weak. How did you really come by the pages, Isabella?”
“You heard everything I said to your brother. It’s all true.”
“It is not. We both know you’re lying.” He walked to the far counter. He brought the loose pages back to her. “Tell me where you got the pages.”
She saw the pages, knew his brother had stolen them from their lead box in her bedroom. She was shaking her head.
“Tell me.” He held the pages close to her. She couldn’t bear it. The pages were singing, speaking to her, they wanted her. No, they wanted him, too—they wanted Radu. She said nothing. He said, “The pages speak to you, don’t they? And that is why you put them in the lead box. They do to me, too.”
“What do they say?”
“They tell me things. And they cry for the rest of the book. You’re not mad, Isabella. If you’re worried I’ll think you’re crazy, I know you’re not. The pages are special.”