Nicolae watched the man approach, noting the pale skin and dark circles under his eyes. This was the man who had so viciously attacked the priest. Nicolae scanned Martin’s memories and found no remembrance of the assault. Only the recollection of sitting on his bed holding the wooden box from the church and turning it over and over in his hands in complete bewilderment. Nicolae could find no malice within the young man, only a heavy sorrow and utter confusion.
Exactly what John Paul was feeling, Destiny pointed out. Can you find the blankness of the mark of the vampire?
Nicolae was an ancient, far stronger than Destiny, one well versed in the arts of the undead. He was certain he would detect the presence of a vampire had the creature touched Martin in some way, but there was no evidence of such a violation. Nicolae stood up, drawing instant attention, holding out his hand as Velda introduced him to the young man.
Martin did his best to be polite in spite of his distraction. Nicolae could see he was naturally a friendly and outgoing person. His affection for Velda and Inez was obvious, as was their affection for the young man they had seen grow to adulthood.
“I have heard such good things about you, Martin. You are an advocate for the elderly and have a new project you are working on with Tim Salvadore. Father Mulligan tells me it is a wonderful opportunity to provide independent living in a safe environment for people on limited means. He believes you to be quite brilliant. The two of you must be great friends.” Deliberately Nicolae used the priest’s name, kept his voice soft and friendly and engaging. He knew the power of such a weapon. Few could resist the invitation to talk.
Martin’s shoulders sagged. “Father Mulligan’s a great man. I’ve known him all my life.” He lifted his head and looked directly at Nicolae, anguish plain in his eyes. “Did he also tell you someone assaulted him? Struck him over the head repeatedly and stole the box of money for the poor right out of his hands?”
Velda gasped. Inez shrieked. Both women crossed themselves, lifted a silver crucifix each wore and in perfect synchronization kissed the cross. “That can’t be, Martin,” Velda protested. “No one would hurt Father Mulligan.”
“There’s never any money in the poor box, is there, Sister?” Inez added, wringing her hands. “What is this world coming to that someone would attack a priest in God’s own house?”
“Maybe Inez and I will have to move to your community after all, Martin,” Velda said. “If things have gotten so bad in this neighborhood that a thief would harm Father Mulligan, no one is safe.”
“Is the poor man going to be all right?” Inez asked. “Sister dear, we must make some of our famous chicken soup and take it to him immediately.” She tapped Nicolae’s arm. “No one can make such perfect chicken soup as dear Velda. Of course I have to remind her what she’s doing or she wanders off on one of her research projects. Velda hunts for proof that vampires and werewolves exist.”
That snapped Nicolae to attention. He had been watching Martin closely for any reaction, barely registering the conversation flowing around him. His dark gaze found Velda, settled there thoughtfully.
Velda patted her hair and smiled at him. “An old hobby of mine. I dabble a bit in magic spells, but I’m not very good at casting. Inez is much more accurate than I am. Martin, dear, do sit down. You look like you could use some feeding up. I’ll make a double batch of my soup and give some to you. We’ll have you fixed up in no time.”
Martin, still partially under the thrall of Nicolae’s voice, slumped heavily into the chair Nicolae had occupied, frowning up at him. “He thinks I did it. Father Mulligan thinks I bashed him over the head and took the poor box.” The confession came out in a rush, ended on a choked sob.
Velda and Inez instantly turned their attention to him, patting and stroking his hair soothingly and making clucking noises. “Father Mulligan must have suffered a concussion. He knows you would never do such a thing, Marty. I’ll go talk to him at once,” Velda said supportively.