by Eva Alton
“Oh, quel dommage! Are you sure, ma belle? It’s a real shame.” I nodded, and he took my glass and drank it himself, shaking like a cat afterwards. “Oh, yes. I can feel her already,” he said with a smirk. “You know, Alba, I’m starting to see why Mr. Auberon is so fond of you. You must be mirror souls indeed.”
“Now say the same but in English, please.” I sat on one of the plush armchairs and laid my books and papers on the table, trying to conceal my avid interest in hearing whatever he had to tell me about Clarence.
“I just meant he’s not the merriest drinking companion, if you haven’t noticed.” Jean-Pierre studied me with interest, like he was unsure on how much he was allowed to tell. “And neither are you, seemingly.”
“I’ve noticed, yes. Why is that? I suppose he doesn’t like the stuff much. Probably more interested in darker, thicker fluids?”
Jean-Pierre chuckled. “No doubt about that,” he said, refusing to answer my question. “But are you sure about the Green Fairy? It would be so lovely to hear her speak through your lips.”
Oh, so that was it. He was trying to get me drunk to pry information out of me, but I wasn’t going to make the same mistake twice. Especially after the previous night.
“You are a sneaky old vampire, did you know, Brother Mercier?”
“I’m just here to help you.”
“How exactly are you helping me by getting me drunk and interrogating me?”
“I don’t intend to interrogate you. But there are a few things we must discuss. The Fulminatio spell can wait. First, let’s lay the cards on the table and make it clear what game we are playing. We are bound to share a roof for a long time, ma belle.”
“What are you talking about, Mercier?” I blinked, trying to dissipate the migraine which had been torturing me since I had woken up.
“Come with me,” he said, offering his hand. I took it with slight apprehension. It was cold and too soft, and it reminded me of a dead fish.
“Where are we going?” I asked, following him out of the library.
“To the gallery,” he said, with a mysterious smile. “Because, whatever Clarence said, I bet he’s not taking you anytime soon himself. Someone has to put an end to this childish game.”
We walked down the candlelit corridor up to a big, black door. He unlocked it and used his candlestick to make the space brighter.
“Not that I need the lighting,” he said with a shrug, “but you’ll appreciate the details better. Those paintings are dark.”
Jean-Pierre handed me a heavy brass candelabra and ushered me into the large gallery. The place was the vampire equivalent of a pirate cave, full of shiny works of art and treasures, and even a massive wooden chest which, for all I knew, might have contained gold coins and pearl necklaces. Stone and metal sculptures crowded the center of the space, stacked one against the other like mere garden tools, while canvases of all sizes rested against the walls, most covered in white sheets, but others just collecting dust like worthless pieces of furniture.
“That looks like a Picasso reproduction,” I said, pointing at an uncovered painting with bold geometric lines.
“Indeed.” Jean-Pierre nodded with satisfaction. “Just not a reproduction. Le pigeon aux petits pois. Elizabeth moved heaven and earth to lay her claws on it. I know it doesn’t look like it, but she’s a romantic at heart.” He winked. “And can’t resist a good investment, even if she has to acquire it through arguably honest means.”
Jean-Pierre disappeared under a bunch of linen sheets, reminiscent of ghosts and haunted mansions. “Oh, here they are,” he said after a while, emerging from the canvas and fabric labyrinth.
“Voilà,” he said with a sneer, pulling at the sheets and revealing the paintings under them. “Have a look and tell me they aren’t pretty.”
NIGHTMARISH VISIONS of decomposing bodies and dismembered human remnants looked at me from the canvases, most of which were taller than me. All the creatures depicted were in the most obscene postures, had white or bloodshot eyes, and stared back at me with such horror and hatred that I couldn’t but gasp in shock. The strokes were rough and blunt, visibly traced in anger, all in shades of black and red. Had I believed in Hell, I would have pictured it and its inhabitants exactly like that, or maybe a bit less gory. The drawings were professional and well-done, with Clarence’s unequivocal touch bubbling below the surface, but evil, lewd and disturbingly alive.
“It’s surprising what you can find inside the soul of the most innocent-looking man, isn’t it?” Jean-Pierre said smugly, tracing the lips on a rotting screaming face with contempt. His voice had become slightly garbled, and I suspected the absinthe had started to kick in. “Or in his past.”
The gigantic canvases stared at me, and I strove to relate those horrendous visions to the man I had had dinner with the night before.
“These are...” I started, my mouth suddenly dry. “These are dreadful.”
Jean-Pierre laughed, his shoulders vibrating and stirring the shadow of his candlestick as he circled around me.
“Even more so because they are inspired by reality. He didn’t imagine this. He saw it. Tasted it. That’s why it feels so real.”
I shivered, dizzy with the smell of paint and dust.
“Many people express themselves through art. Isn’t that what artists do? I’m sure there’s nothing wrong with this.”
I wanted to believe what I was saying, but I wasn’t really sure. I had seen disturbing art before and read many horror novels, but this was nothing compared to any of that. These paintings were the closest depiction of evil and depravity I had ever seen in my life.
Jean-Pierre inhaled deeply and gave me a long, yearning look.
“Of course,” he said, in a tone which made it clear he meant just the opposite. “I never said this wasn’t normal. Our daily bread, really.”
“He told me about the lead coffin,” I said in a quiet voice.
“It’s a surefire way to turn a vampire insane.” Jean-Pierre nodded. “Although some of these were painted by a mortal man. One who didn’t want to live, and one who was nothing like the man you think you know.”
“What are you trying to tell me?” I shouted, stomping my foot and crossing my arms. “That Clarence is not to be trusted? That he actually saw... or performed... the same things he painted?” I looked at Jean-Pierre, waiting for a confirmation, but his eyes were hooded and his body was swaying in a very strange way. “What’s the point in showing me this?” I could feel my teeth grinding with frustration. “I’m just an assistant. I’m here to work, not to be your on-call shrink. Why is this any of my business, anyway?”
“You aren’t just an assistant. You are a hard-to-find creature, and thus, we care about your well-being, especially Francesca and me. We have seen many things. And it’s good that you learn how deep still waters can run. Before you drown in them, ma belle.”
“Well, thanks for your concern, but I’m not an art collector. Sell your paintings to someone else.”
Hiding my shock as well as I could, I turned my back to the gruesome canvases and left the gallery as fast as my feet allowed me. I heard the key turn in the lock and Jean-Pierre appeared beside me in the corridor, faster than lighting.
“There are no innocent vampires,” Jean-Pierre said, placing an icy arm around my waist. I tried to shake it off, but he was stronger than his saintly physique suggested. “Don’t fool yourself.”
“I told you,” my voice shook when I spoke, “I’m here for the job. Nothing else.”
“But are you? Tell me, ma belle, what happened last night? Why did Clarence leave The Cloister in a rush, dying of thirst, right after spending a couple of hours with you? He had just come back from his last hunt, hadn’t he?” His voice was entrancing, and he swayed like a charmed snake.
“I don’t know! Why don’t you ask him?”
I sneaked into the library and set the candelabra on a shelf. He followed me in.
“Because he’s too concerned with k
eeping an appearance of benevolence, and he would never admit to it, for a start. Beware of Robin Hood, the prince of the thieves―or should I say the prince of the undead? He’s so compassionate, isn’t he? So much... better than us. Always the queen’s favorite.”
“I have absolutely no idea,” I snapped, wondering why I hadn’t stayed the whole morning in my room instead of wasting it in a fruitless debate with a drunk French vampire. “You tell me.”
Jean-Pierre took his hands to his heart with exaggerated offense. “If you ask him, he will tell you he feeds exclusively off deserving victims,” he sneered and rolled his eyes. “Criminals. Rapists. Molesters. Sounds so chivalrous, doesn’t it? Is that what he told you?”
“No. We only discuss business.” It wasn’t entirely true, but I didn’t feel like sharing with Jean-Pierre, especially when he was in such a confronting mood.
“But ma belle,” Jean-Pierre continued, ignoring my answer, “who are we to judge who deserves punishment and who doesn’t? Isn’t it slightly arrogant to compare ourselves to the keeper of the Pearly Gates? Shouldn’t that be Saint Peter’s job, and not a foul vampire’s?”
Jean-Pierre set fire to yet another sugar cube over the absinthe and its sweet, heady scent pervaded the room once more. He approached me, his breath thick with alcohol fumes. His behavior was starting to scare me.
“And then again―” He licked his lips. “―some humans can’t wait to be bitten by our kind. Why deprive them of such rare pleasure?”
I gulped, and leaned back. Clarence had said vampires were resistant to alcohol intoxication. Could Jean-Pierre really be under a spell? Whatever it was, he was becoming more audacious by the second, with the help of that Green Fairy of his.
“What’s wrong with you?” I said, pushing him away from me.
“I have a feeling you are one of them, and you are simply enraged to be cursed with the stench of a witch. A curse and a blessing, all in one. It keeps you alive among us, but it deprives you of the pleasure you seek. Is that right?” His eyes were watery, red veins crisscrossing their light blue surface. “Aren’t you dying to try, ma belle? Isn’t that what draws you to him? He seems so... harmless, doesn’t he?”
“I... no, of course not,” I stammered, “That’s not something I’ve even thought about.”
I might have. But only during the early morning hours, when I should have been sleeping, instead of tossing in bed and switching between endless worries and licentious fantasies.
“Haven’t you, really?” His voice was becoming husky, and I focused all my attention on the exit. It was near, but Jean-Pierre was faster than I. If he wanted to, he could stop me from reaching it with just one finger. And he didn’t seem completely in control of his own actions, judging by his slurred words.
“I’m offering you my assistance.” Jean-Pierre grinned, and I noticed his descended fangs and his crazed eyes.
“Jean-Pierre,” I said, trying to keep my voice calm but still trembling like a leaf. “Stop. No. That’s not you.”
His blue eyes were flaring with that otherworldly light I had already observed in other vampires when they got angry or excited.
He seemed stoned, and things weren’t looking promising for me. At all.
“Let me do it. I don’t mind the smell of a witch. I’ll mark you as mine, and he will leave you alone. Because, oh, ma belle, if he does it instead, you will end up like one of those pictures. They are real. Those are not a fruit of his imagination. And we can’t allow that to happen, can we?”
Jean-Pierre smelled of sweet anise, the absinthe pervading his breath and making him braver than usual. A bead of sweat slid down the back of my neck.
“Ah... thanks for the warning... I... I’ll keep it in mind.”
“Darling child, we are what we are. Embracing our true nature is what makes life worth living. Don’t you agree? Let me protect you. Just do.”
“You are not in your right mind, and I’m leaving,” I muttered.
Unnerved, I started to stack my books in a quick pile, afraid to look away from Jean-Pierre in case he jumped at my throat.
“Don’t you dare follow me,” I warned him in a ragged voice.
Jean-Pierre stood up and put his hands on my shoulders, letting them slip downwards in a very improper way for a former man of the church.
“The Green Fairy has a message for you,” he growled, his words sounding incoherent as his eyes rolled back in their sockets and became blank. “The Green Fairy wants you to know that Clarence Auberon will be your death.”
A low hum came out of his chest, and his face became distorted. “Let me drink from you now, and he won’t touch you. Vampires respect each other’s possessions. Wait a bit longer, and your destiny will be sealed. What do you say, ma belle? What do you say now?” he snarled, and I jumped away from him. “The clock is ticking,” he said, baring his fangs and inhaling into my hair, his white beard prickling my cheek. He smelled of alcohol, but also of rusty blood, like Clarence, mixed with frankincense and blown out candles.
“Jean-Pierre?” I waved at him right in front of his face, in a last desperate effort to wake him up from the trance. His body seemed possessed by a higher force, like that of the ancient oracles.
“Wake up, Mercier!” I clapped my hands in front of his face, making him step back and blink. “Stop this right now, or I’m leaving The Cloister for good, do you hear me?”
Jean-Pierre shook his head and took a deep breath. I clenched my teeth, took courage and slapped his face hard, hoping he wouldn’t turn against me. He could kill me if he wanted to, but I was almost certain that it wasn’t in his interest.
The slap hurt my hand more than him, but it seemed to inject some clarity back into his muddled mind. Holding his cheek, the old vampire stumbled back, hitting the edge of the table and making all the objects on its surface shake. The bottle of absinthe fell and shattered on the floor, and he stood still, watching the liquid stain the hardwood floors. I took advantage of his retreat and fled towards the door.
“Please, don’t go,” he groaned, his voice and his eyes becoming normal again. “The Green Fairy...” he whispered, “I got a bit carried away by her evil tricks.” He sighed audibly and dropped on a couch, rubbing his face like he had just awakened from a bad dream. “She’s a sly counselor, just like all of her kind. Beware of the Fae folk, my dear. They are not to be trusted.”
I watched him closely, pondering whether to run or stay for him to finish his speech. The watery veil over his eyes was finally vanishing, and he seemed to have recovered control over his actions.
“What the hell was that, Mercier?”
“I told you. It was a spell. It wasn’t me speaking, but her.”
I pursed my lips, unsure whether to believe him.
“I swear by almighty Jupiter,” he said.
It didn’t sound like a very convincing oath.
“Okay,” I swallowed and took a few deep breaths. “Whatever it was, I didn’t like it, and that’s why I need you to promise me something, Jean-Pierre.”
“Vampires don’t make promises,” he groaned, massaging his temples. “We live too long for that. But we could reach an agreement.”
“Look. Call it whatever you want. But if you want me, or my daughters, to ever set foot in this library again, you have to promise me to never, ever, ever, proposition me like that again. Because it was highly unpleasant. And scary, too. Understood?” I crossed my arms over my chest, using the books as a shield. I might have looked brave on the outside, but I was crumbling inside: hopefully he couldn’t hear my heart racing. Jean-Pierre smiled weakly, and his teeth looked normal once again.
“Agreed,” he said weakly. “But only if you give your word never to tell Auberon about what just happened here. It was the fairy’s doing. And he might get cranky if he found out.”
“Deal,” I said, frowning. I still had trouble believing the whole fairy story, but it was a relief to have ordinary Jean-Pierre back.
“I guess I’ll h
ave to keep my Artemisia invocations to myself, just like I’ve been doing for the last couple of centuries.” He stared at his feet, saddened.
“Please do,” I said eagerly, and I poured myself a glass of water in one of the salvaged glasses.
AFTER MY BREATHING went back to normal, and Jean-Pierre proved to me that the Green Fairy was gone for good, we were finally able to discuss the matter which had originally brought me to the library.
“If we could now get back to the Fulminatio spell,” I said, placing my chair on the opposite side of the table where Jean-Pierre was now sitting, looking like a beatific, white-haired man once again. There were no more traces of red-rimmed blank eyes or oversized fangs. “I checked out the text last night, but I refrained from reading it aloud. If I understood correctly, I’m supposed to wait for a waning moon, and there’s something about four queens. I don’t know who or what they might be, but it seems important.”
Jean-Pierre took the sheet of paper and read it intently, nodding as he did. I flinched, but he just shook his head. “Don’t worry. I don’t think I have the ability to cast this spell even if I sprinkle myself with a gallon of fairy dust. I’ve read it and written it dozens of times, and so far, I haven’t fulminated anyone.” He smirked. “So, the queens, yes. I have a hypothesis about them. Wait a second.”
He disappeared into the back of the library and rummaged in an obscure armoire with wrought iron grills on the doors. After a while, he came back with a carved wooden box and put it on the table, next to one of the many five-armed candelabra which abounded in The Cloister.
“Open it,” he said.
I stood up and studied the box, which had a golden clasp and felt oddly warm under my fingers. A silken bundle hid inside it, and I unwrapped it carefully under Jean-Pierre’s attentive scrutiny. Wrapped in the fabric I found a musty-smelling deck of playing cards, possibly an antique version of the cartas de jogar I had become acquainted with during my years in Portugal.
“A card game?” I asked, holding the simple tuck box with disappointment.