Count Lucien turned to Max. “You want some?” Both The Count and Lucien were offended by Max’s grimace.
Lucien attached his lips to the female’s neck where moments before his fangs had impaled the tender flesh. He gently sucked on her blood. The taste was quite sweet with a touch of bitterness to balance the effect like a well-rounded Nuits Saint Georges, but with a distinct hint of anisette – the lingering after-effects of Pernod. His fingers caressed her fine unblemished skin with a feather touch – a skin as soft as a butterfly’s wing. He wanted to drain her of her essence, to swim in her mortal fluid, to drown in it. A petite death of orgasmic pleasure trembled through his nerves, igniting his joie de vivre.
Such delight, Lucien thought, glancing at Claudette slurping hungrily on the boyfriend’s neck.
Claudette looked up and blew Lucien a bloody kiss.
These flea-pits made such perfect feeding grounds, Lucien mused. In the darkness of the cinema it was virtually impossible to make out the blood trickling from his companions’ mouths. Lucien shuddered as he experienced the sanguineous depths of their depraved exploits as Suckling vampires. To any casual onlooker, their antics would have been the usual back-row crowd eager for sex.
When the final credits rolled, Lucien noticed Max had disappeared. “How could he leave like that ... without taking a drink?”
Jacques replied, “Perhaps he changed into a bat and flew off into the night.” He laughed at his own joke.
Count Lucien grabbed Jacques by the throat and squeezed. “What’s so fucking funny?” He pushed Jacques away with a snarl.
Jacques’ laughter ceased while following his grouchy master out of the cinema.
Claudette scrambled after them. “Wait for me!”
Once outside, Lucien breathed deeply to divert his rage. He walked briskly to the boulevard to find Max happily chatting with Picasso and Diaghilev before strolling off with them. Lucien and company followed at a discreet distance.
Arm outstretched, Picasso hailed a taxi. “The Ritz!”
Lucien’s brain was kicked back into gear by The Count.
“The Ritz you fool!”
Lucien, Jacques and Claudette rushed to the Mercedes parked in a side street.
That was it! She had to be there with Sebastian and Ellise Moreau. Lucien’s heart raced for a brief moment before returning to its monotonous thud.
During the trip to the Ritz, Lucien closed his eyes and allowed The Count to show him images of the man they left barely alive at the cinema, Fabian. Lucien sighed, knowing he had triggered destiny to follow the path The Count ordained.
The Count showed Fabian embracing death. He loved conflict. He loved blood. You, Lucien forged him into a man. Fabian scaled mountains without ropes. He canoed flooding rivers. Strange as it might seem, Fabian used a canoe to navigate the sewers of Paris. Lucien was in awe of The Count’s all-seeing insights.
Fabian persuaded the Parisian Resistance leader to use the ancient catacombs snaking through the sewers of Paris as a base of operations. Lucien saw German soldiers massacre thousands in the name of their Fuhrer. Fabian rallied resistance and fought hand-to-hand with the Boche, freeing Paris in the summer of 1944.
“A true hero! Conflict is everything. I must have conflict,” The Count insisted.
Lucien snapped out of the trance with reverence for The Count and his far-reaching influence. He turned to Jacques to see the Haitian giving him a peculiar frown.
Chapter 19
4th June
EDOUARD WALKED BRISKLY with a new sense of meaning to his life – to find this woman and be with her forever. “Eternal” was the word. He liked the idea of being with her eternally. Destiny had struck, and he could not conceive this second encounter to be mere coincidence. But the image of that fiend, her pursuer, flooded his mind with a cold dread, dampening any thoughts of romance.
Edouard raced through dark alleys and ran down bustling boulevards to arrive outside the Ritz to see a throng of drunken artistic types enter the building. Using a moment to catch his breath, with utter horror he noticed several grassy scuff marks and streaks of mud on his clothes. He used his handkerchief to wipe as much as he could before mingling with the crowd, mimicking their antics and laughing along with their jokes. He quickly made his way to the suite where destiny awaited him, hopefully.
A massive door of shimmering gold beckoned Edouard into the Moreau Suite, the most extravagantly opulent place he had ever seen. Edouard wasn’t poor by any standards, but he gasped to see waiters carting food and drinks on gold platters.
He admired a Van Gogh hanging next to a Renoir. His finger examined many paintings from the brush of the celebrated artist – Ellise Moreau while he sauntered over to the expansive gold-plated cocktail bar littered with bottles for every taste both demure and exotic.
Edouard was stunned to see several bottles of Absinthe. Where on earth did the Moreau’s get their hands on the Green Goddess, a banned substance? Money had its privileges. A gold phonograph played Camille Saint Saens’ Danse Macabre on the bar’s black marble counter top.
He settled at the bar and pointed to a bottle of brandy. The bartender – a muscular black fellow dressed like an exotic Arabian prince with big gold bangles in his ears and a huge white feather in his turban – poured the fifty year old Armagnac into a large glass. He handed the brandy to Edouard giving him a raised eyebrow.
Edouard looked down at his attire and shrugged an apology. He stayed at the bar, slightly nervous of the company he was keeping, sipping his wondrous brandy and spying on the guests, arriving in dribs and drabs. A gasp escaped Edouard’s lips as Picasso walked by chatting with Sergei Diaghilev, founder of the Russian Ballet. The noisy crowd parted like the Red Sea for the two impresarios to pass through them.
Edouard’s heart missed a beat when his eyes fell upon the woman seated on a sofa at the far end of the living area. She was laughing and chatting with an elegant man and a stunning woman, who seemed vaguely familiar – ah yes, Ellise Moreau.
His true love kissed Ellise’s cheek with obvious friendship. She ran her fingers through Ellise’s short blonde hair and seemed to admire her black backless evening dress, no doubt designed by Chanel.
His gaze met his dream woman’s eyes across the crowded room. He watched her sip her red wine. She jolted with recognition. Her smile became lustful. It was now or never. Edouard plucked up the courage to declare his love to her, but was cut off by another elegant woman. It took a moment of frustration to recognize the decadent, stunning blonde actress of stage and screen – Soo-Soo.
Soo-Soo asked, “And who might you be, darling? Hmm ... I have never set eyes on such beauty in the masculine form before.” She licked her lips. “Want to try me out for size?”
Edouard cleared his throat to answer, but Soo-Soo gave a squeal of delight and flitted away to chat with some new arrival, the one and only Coco Chanel.
Edouard leaned against the bar and watched his dream woman laughing with her friends. She seemed different somehow, but he couldn’t quite put a finger on it. He was about to make his move when a gorgeous young thing with long legs in black leather and white, frilly shirt unbuttoned to the navel pressed his groin into Edouard’s hip.
The effete young man nudged Edouard again. “Where have you been all my life, gorgeous?” His eyes traced Edouard’s gaze to his affliction d’amore. “I understand ... good luck.” He sauntered away to his next conquest.
Edouard desperately tried to keep an eye on his dream lover as she giggled with Ellise. With some annoyance, he had to dodge here and there to stay with her as guests continually blocked his view. He saw her reach for a rose. He breathed in deeply as she sniffed the petals. The rose jolted his memory of their encounter at the florist. His romantic thoughts rapidly turned into a nightmare of mindless terror when the door allowed entry to his worst nightmare.
~~~~
Lucien and his clique stood fearless. They attracted immediate attention – three black ghouls on a grim mis
sion.
After scanning the enormous room for a heartbeat, the obsidian lullaby alerted Lucien to her presence. His brooding eyes stopped dead in their tracks on his Petite Fleur caressing Ellise’s enticing neck with rose petals. Sebastian leaned over and licked his wife’s neck. Lucien grimaced at Ellise opening her lustful eyes. She smirked at him. The Count sensed her taunting him to do something about it.
Lucien sneered at her with a barely controllable need to drain her life’s essence. Jealous rage filled his wiry frame with a trembling agony. The bitch loved to tease him with her celebrity, she knew he could do nothing – fame had its virtues.
Ellise used to be nothing, just another talented artist who would soon be forgotten until she immortalized Delicate Rose on canvas. This he had allowed under protest from The Count. And as their friendship grew so Ellise’s fame had risen above her peers. Everyone wanted a copy of the nude painting. It riled Lucien to know his mistress could use her muse to transform the mediocre into the famous. He despised her for it.
The time had come to show this hedonistic crowd what he was really made of. He clenched fists when Ellise slipped her tongue into the parted lips of his mistress. His hand slipped inside his coat and caressed the sword.
Jacques grabbed Lucien’s arm and restrained him with a warning look. Jacques whispered, “Not here, you bloody fool. We’d have to kill them all.”
“So be it!” Lucien tugged his arm free and leaned against the wall. Waves of overpowering hatred turned his legs to jelly. His deadly desire was clearly painted across his face. He decided now was the time, but was distracted by Claudette playfully nuzzling his earlobe. He shoved her away.
Claudette pouted like a spoilt child. “Someone’s in a bad mood.”
Lucien saw the young man who had kissed his mistress at the florist. “You’re the first.” He made his move towards the obviously terrified man frozen at the bar.
Jacques blew out his cheeks and stood in front of Lucien, shaking his head no. He had to grapple Lucien. Gasps of shock came from a few of the guests who bothered to notice.
Lucien relaxed and grinned wickedly at the young man, rejoicing in his fear. Three times in one night he had stumbled across this impudent dog. The coincidences were too obvious. Perhaps divine destiny was at hand? She had lured him purposely. Lucien glared at his mistress. His heart raced for a moment with the realization that his Petite Fleur had chosen this pathetic weakling for her eternal joining. He had to go, but obviously not here. Lucien shrugged off Jacques’ hand gripping his arm. He looked around at the accusing glares and smiled back with such hostility all eyes turned away.
~~~~
Edouard immediately recognized the young man from the florist and worse still – the cemetery. A cold chill trickled down his back. He shuddered when his eyes met those dark pools of hate swimming in a pale countenance.
To his horror, the young man nodded to his companion, a large black fellow with an almost feminine face and spiky rat-tailed hair. Edouard stood rigid as a headstone, watching the tall, muscular Negro saunter over to the bar and trap him with a dangerous wink. The memory of this monster’s promise to rip out his heart and devour it filled him with dread. The moment to capture his love flittered away as fickle as fate had allowed him to meet her.
“Your persistence will get you killed, man.” The Negro laughed out loud giving the bartender a stare to mind his own business. He laughed with obvious pleasure as the bartender timidly looked away.
Edouard saw the effect the muscle-bound menace had on the bartender and turned to see his true love transfixed with sudden fear. His heart screamed to protect her. He tried to go to her, but the Negro gripped his arm and squeezed, shaking his head no. Edouard struggled, raking his shoe down the Negro’s shin. He turned and punched him in the gut. His fist bounced off a rock.
Edouard was paralyzed with agony the moment the Negro snatched his neck. A tingling numbness infected Edouard’s body from the neck down when strong fingers pinched a nerve cluster. He was absolutely terrified.
“I’ll snap it like a twig if you move.” The Negro shook Edouard like a rag doll.
~~~~
Lucien glared at Ellise with such longing. He ached for her blood, watching his Petite Fleur separating her lips from Ellise’s tongue. She leaned forward to smell the cluster of bright red roses set majestically in an ornamental vase on the coffee table in front of her. Their eyes met for the briefest moment. Lucien grinned at her immediate terror. His trap had been set – her music filled his mind.
Petite Fleur stared at the blood trickling from the gash in the palm of her hand.
Lucien sensed what would happen next. He sighed with exasperation when Max Schreck offered comfort to his woman, inspecting the scratch. He felt Max’s moment of concern mixed with lust directed at the stunning woman. Don’t do it Max! The Count watched the actor give her a curious smile, and as if bored, Max turned his attention to the antics of the party fiends led by Picasso, playing spin the bottle.
Lucien breathed a sigh of relief. He didn’t want to kill his idol. His hateful glare focused on Ellise and Sebastian trying to comfort the distressed woman. Their sickening love poured from them like treacle. Something else will be pouring from them if they don’t leave her alone. Lucien gripped his sword when Sebastian leaned as if to kiss her.
Lucien relaxed. The swine whispered sweet comforts in his mistress’ ear. The bitch gently stroked his mistress’ hair. He sensed his Delicate Rose’s desperate need to flee. She begged Sebastian to take her away. Sebastian looked in Lucien’s direction. Now it’s time. Lucien pulled Claudette to him.
He whispered into Claudette’s ear. She nodded with a giggle. The Count glared with open hostility at his Little White Rose now being comforted by that whore, Ellise and her cavalier husband. He thought of such delicious ways to snuff out Ellise’s provocative life and smiled with anticipation of draining every last drop of her extravagant vintage.
A sudden scream diverted everyone’s attention to Claudette, mind-fucked by copious amounts of alcohol and blood. With derisive laughter she jumped up onto a coffee table.
Claudette ran her black-lacquered fingers through her short, black hair, swaying her lithe and sinuous body in a grotesquely sexual manner. Like the genuine article, Claudette teased and lured her audience to dare her to remove her dress. A squeal of delight prompted trembling fingers to slowly strip off her black dress for her eager audience. Loud clapping egged her on, slowly revealing her nakedness in all its glory.
The last to go were her black high-heeled shoes that flew across the room. Claudette writhed on the table for all to see and appreciate. Picasso, Diaghilev, Max Schreck and Jean Cocteau urged her on with equal enthusiasm.
Jacques whispered into Edouard’s ear. “If you value your life, you should be leaving, man.” Jacques released Edouard’s neck.
Edouard coughed. He grimaced in pain, skulking further away into the vast room.
“Not that way, you fool.” Jacques sighed with exasperation.
Lucien heard Jacques’ protest and growled with annoyance. He nimbly cut off Edouard’s retreat and forced him back to the bar with Jacques.
Jacques ignored Edouard, smirking with lascivious pleasure at Claudette’s pertly shaved mound and luscious curves. “What a waste, man … the bitch should be dancing on my face.” Jacques chuckled, nudging Lucien playfully while massaging his erection.
Lucien’s attention was diverted from his mistress and her company. He grimaced at the sight of Claudette’s moist lips displayed for all to see. What a whore! He stared at her with a terrible rage, but his fury was for the woman in the white dress – and rapidly spilling out of control.
Max helped himself to some Cognac at the bar. He noticed Lucien’s demeanor and gave him a friendly nudge. “Lighten up young man and enjoy the show.” Max shrugged, leaving to get a closer look at Claudette.
Edouard made another move towards his woman, but was slapped down by Jacques.
“I
warned you ... now you’re for it.” Jacques grabbed Edouard by the scruff of his jacket and dragged him towards the door. “What the fuck you looking at, man?”
A male guest retreated from Jacques’ dangerous glare.
Jacques laughed, opened the door and tossed Edouard into the hallway as if he weighed nothing.
“If Lucien sees you trying that again he’ll have your guts for garters.” Jacques slammed the door.
Lucien smiled at Edouard’s discomfort before returning his attention to his Delicate Rose. Without warning she collapsed to the floor. He fought back hateful tears to see Ellise kneel down and tend to his mistress. He promised he’d kill anyone who came between him and his Precious Rose and now it would seem fate had offered yet another chance to exert his power over his chosen one. So be it. Lucien rushed to his mistress.
Ellise slapped the woman’s cheeks, ever so tenderly, to revive her. “Come on darling.”
Sebastian shot an enquiring glance. “Just too much wine, I suspect.”
Lucien shoved Sebastian aside, shouting, “Hands off ... she’s mine.”
“I say, that was uncalled for, Dupont.” Sebastian stood his ground, outwardly unafraid.
“Fuck off, if you know what’s good for you.” Lucien sneered with malicious intent. He bent down to pick up his Delicate Rose.
Sebastian yanked Lucien to his feet. “I have a good mind to thrash the hide from you, young man.” Sebastian slapped Lucien across the face, cutting his lower lip.
Lucien licked his own blood from his fingers and laughed with the surprise of it all. He couldn’t stop laughing. It was so funny. He had twice the strength of Sebastian and yet had allowed him to gain the upper hand. He removed his sword and split Sebastian’s head in two.
The Count screamed with laughter. The sword ended Ellise’s life. Her pretty head rolled into her lap. He could not stop. The blood fever was intense in its inevitable grip. The Count ripped out throat after throat. Oh how sweet Coco tasted. Picasso was just as easy to drink and finally Max’s throat released his fine vintage. It was a glorious moment.
The Shadow Box: Paranormal Suspense and Dark Fantasy Thriller Novels Page 186