Secret History of Elizabeth Tudor, Vampire Slayer by Lucy Weston Page A

crushed pearls, amber, musk, and the like. It is called laudanum.”
    “From the Latin
laudare,
to praise?”
    “Indeed. Paracelsus praised its ability to relieve pain of every sort while exalting the spirit. It has become the fashion in certain quarters on the Continent, and now it has appeared here.”
    “Paracelsus,” Dee snorts, making of the name his own comment on the matter.
    I suppose a degree of professional jealousy is understandable. Dee is a great man in many ways, although perhaps not so great as he assumes. But Paracelsus … dead only a handful of years, the brilliant Swiss alchemist is heralded as a genius for the ages. His name attached to any substance would make it instantly appealing. And if it actually does what is claimed—
    “It is what draws people to this place?”
    Walsingham nods. “Up until a few months ago this was no more than an ordinary tavern popular with the sort of men you saw in front. But recently, this back room was added on, exclusively for the use of laudanum takers.” A bit abashed, he adds, “I apologize for the expense, but if we did not purchase at least one vial, our presence here would be instantly suspect.”
    I nod and, from beneath my hood, look more closely at our fellow patrons. A man of middle years, his dark beard sporting a few strands of silver, lolls back in his chair with an expression of utter contentment on his face. Nearby, another, younger man hums quietly to himself while studying his own hand with apparent fascination. They are by no means exceptional. EverywhereI look, men of substance and means appear transformed into creatures of blissful self-absorption. Their state might be considered enviable were it not so unnatural.
    “All laudanum users?” I ask.
    The schoolmaster nods. “Cast into such a state, I believe, at the design of those who would prey on them. If I am right, laudanum has reached our shores through the vampires themselves. They are using it as a lure.”
    The idea horrifies me but it is not without logic. If the tincture does as it is said to, it must render any intended victim docile in the extreme.
    “Then you expect them to appear here?” I ask.
    Silently, Walsingham inclines his head once more.
    Robin, who has been listening intently, takes a long swallow of his ale. Under the table, he clasps my hand. I allow Dee to tempt me with the Rhenish wine, which proves surprisingly drinkable. Walsingham, who seems most in his element, goes so far as to try the sausage but puts it down after a couple of bites. We wait. I am thinking that we should move on and try another place when a solitary man pale in complexion strolls into the back room. He glances at us but only in passing before he takes a seat in the shadows.
    I am reminded at once of Mordred; though the new arrival is not so beautiful, he possesses the same ethereal beauty that attracts me viscerally. He wears the garb of a gentleman, but I have never seen him before—for surely I would remember. If I did not recognize him to be a vampire, I would guess that he was in his early twenties. As it is, I wonder how old he truly is, how much of life he has seen if his can be called life, and what he will do if he realizes who I am.
    What I am.
    Morgaine Le Fey slew many vampires, so Dee claims. Mordred escaped her but how many others fell? Can those of the same kind sense the danger I represent, if danger I truly am to them? That remains to be determined.
    “Watch,” Walsingham murmurs, following my gaze.
    The boy approaches the vampire with obvious reluctance, remaining several feet from the table and keeping his gaze averted. The moment the order is completed, he darts away.
    I lean closer to Walsingham. “Do they eat and drink as we do?”
    “I have observed them to do so but I cannot say whether they derive sustenance or merely pleasure from it.”
    The curtain to the front room parts. A trio of young men enter, all outfitted in the particolor hose and garishly lined short