Incarnation by Emma Cornwall

lost.
    “Does humanity really count so much with you?” he asked.
    Before I could reply, he went on, “As we speak, the Greeks and Turks are killing each other. The Spanish and Americans are pounding their chests and baring their teeth at one another. As though all that weren’t enough, there are rumblings that we have a second Boer War to look forward to in Africa before very long. None of that is unusual. Humanity has been in a state of perpetual war for centuries, if not longer. Is that something to be proud of?”
    “Of course not,” I said, “but there is much more to being human.”
    “Indeed? Look in the skies above you,” he said. “With each passing day, we are under ever more surveillance for no better reason than that men live in fear and suspicions of one another. Our technology outstrips our ability to reason or even to care. Walk the shortest distance beyond the better areas of this city and you will find degradation and suffering that defy description. The inhumanity of man is also part of being human.”
    “You astonish me. I could almost believe that you would prefer to be something else yourself.”
    A look I could not decipher passed behind his eyes. After a moment, he said, “Perhaps that explains my fondness for occult studies.”
    “You have such a fondness?” That, at least, would explain why he was not shocked by me.
    “I do, as does Mr. Bram Stoker.” At the mention of the Irish author and playwright’s name, I stiffened.
    Marco ignored my reaction and said, “We are both members of an organization known as the Golden Dawn that is dedicated to exploring such matters. That is why Bram was charged with helping to conceal your fate.”
    So they were on a first-name basis—Stoker, who had sent me to the Bagatelle, and Marco, who had found me there. More than ever, I was convinced that Marco’s appearances the previous night and again that morning could not be coincidence.
    The most prudent course would be to walk away then and there. I would be far safer on my own, but I would also be no closer to finding the one I sought. What was it Stoker had said? Ignorance is no fit state for anyone. On that at least, the Irishman and I were in agreement.
    “I can be of assistance to you,” Marco said, as though he had sensed what was in my mind. “If you will allow me.”
    “And if I will not, what then?”
    He hesitated but only for a moment. “It is your choice, of course. I will do nothing to hinder you. But if I am right about what is happening, we are—human and vampire alike—at great risk. Unless you and I cooperate, the outcome is likely to be grim for all concerned.”
    His urgency echoed my own and went a considerable way to persuading me. But one concern remained.
    “You are asking me to trust you,” I said, “when I have no idea who you are other than an associate of the man who played a key role in the conspiracy to conceal my fate.”
    Regret flitted across his face as he said, “Then may I suggest that we become better acquainted?”
    The Lucy I was before my transformation would have been swayed by this man’s quiet strength, the soothing timbre of his voice, and above all by the mixture of pleasure and anxiousness that his presence evoked. I was determined to ignore any such human considerations. Nor were they necessary, for the plain fact was that I had no good alternative.
    Slowly, not taking my eyes from him, I nodded.

CHAPTER 7

     
    H aving left the environs of the Bagatelle, Marco and I proceeded to the headquarters of the Golden Dawn Society. Located in an elegant townhouse, the organization maintained an outward posture of discretion. The entrance, through double polished oak doors set with inlaid glass panels, was marked only by a simple plaque inscribed with the letters GDS . The ubiquitous eyes—magnifying periscope lenses ever more popular in government office buildings but beginning to make their appearance in private homes—were absent. Yet I could not