Servaes had to concentrate to understand the boy’s strange accent. It was a mix of England and the New World, he assumed. Only catching the gist of what the boy said, Servaes inquired, "Who gave you money?"
"Yer mate, Mark. ‘E said yeh’d be a-wantin’ food and a place to lie down."
As they passed several buildings, the boy pointed aimlessly at them, rattling off names that Servaes couldn’t understand. He couldn’t force his mind to translate that which was spoken so rapidly.
The boy, who Servaes later learned was named Samuel, brought him to a building as rough as the rest. It only took him a moment to understand it was a small boarding house for the sailors. The Marquis didn’t care, as long as he was led to a warm cot and a fire. Samuel’s mother, a portly woman with beefy arms, welcomed him in with a bright smile and small bow. He somehow got the impression she knew of his station.
The mother pushed her young daughter forward. Servaes wryly noted the hope in her eyes as she presented the plump girl for his inspection. Servaes shook his head, pretending not to understand the mother’s words, as she spouted the talents of her daughter -- talents that could be bought for a small price. The daughter smiled shyly, almost fainting with relief when the rough looking gentleman paid her no mind. The mother’s disappointment was obvious, but she let Samuel lead the Marquis away to his chamber.
It was with a vague relief and heavy heart that Servaes shut his door to the world. He fell onto the cot, intent on not moving. His body spun from his months on the ocean, and his head throbbed with thoughts of Hathor. Closing his eyes, he blocked out the small chamber. He couldn’t help but wonder if any of it was true at all. If he could pick the reality he would have, he would pick Hathor and the life he imagined for them.
* * * *
Servaes slept through the first day and through all of the night, hardly moving in his exhaustion. When he did wake, he felt somewhat refreshed. Grabbing a loaf of bread left on the only table in his room, he quickly ate it. He didn’t taste the food as he swallowed it down with a mug of warm ale. His clothes were still on, stinking and tattered from the journey. His skin crawled as if it were alive.
When he stepped from the chamber he was met with the surprised eyes of the Baker family -- nine children in all, tow-headed rascals the whole lot of them. Servaes’ gaze met with Samuel’s. He vaguely recognized the boy. Through stunted words and numerous gestures, Servaes managed to secure a bath. When he pointed to his clothes, the woman laughed, handing him a package.
Inside was a new wardrobe, as stiff and pristine as he had ever worn. The mother also gave him a crude razor with a basin of water pointing to his face in indication that he should shave. No one could tell him who his benefactor was, although they did say he’d been by the night before with the clothing. It was a fact that made Servaes uneasy. When he told his hostess he had no money to pay her, again she laughed and shooed him to his room with the admission that everything had been taken care of in advance.
Night fell over the American town, its name unknown to Servaes who never thought to ask and didn’t understand when told. It didn’t matter, for he was not home. Dressed in his new clothes, his face clean-shaven, Servaes made his way into the evening. He denied Samuel’s enthusiastic offer to accompany him. The boy frowned in disappointment but left the nobleman alone.
Servaes made his way into the dark evening. The night was lit with crude lanterns up the main street. In the distance, he detected a piano and the loud singing of a drunken chorus. Servaes’ body begged him for a drink, but he didn’t have the energy to grace a common pub so held back.
Above him the stars stretched for miles, uninhibited by tall buildings. They looked the same as home, giving him some sense of connection. Scratching his head, which he had left bare, he walked in the opposite direction of the pub towards the solitary sound of the ocean. The plea of the chilling waves called to him, begging him to jump into its inky depths with the promise that they would carry him home.
* * * *
The docks were quiet. The moon shone full and proud over the water, as the ocean lapped up the sides of the giant ships. The subtle laughter of a sailor and his paid woman drifted up from under the deck as Hathor hurried by. Her heart beat frantically, Servaes’ kiss warm on her mouth.
"Servaes! When is this going to end? Get me out of here!" she whispered fervently between her teeth. The night air didn’t respond. As a cool breeze whipped about her, she pulled the waistcoat closer to her form. Chills racked her tired and stiff body. Her eyes strained to the distance, trying to see her aunt’s house across the length of the endless ocean. The water only continued, blending with the stars until they met in the blinding distance with unearthly beauty.
"Servaes, I can’t take this nightmare anymore! Get me out of here! I want to go home! Fine, I will sleep with you if that is what you want. I will be your slave. Just make this end. Make me forget it. I want to go home."
She knew she must look like a madwoman, sputtering in anger to the wind. Her outrage was not answered. Then, a thought struck her. She wondered if she was to see the whole expanse of Servaes life -- from human to vampire to the night in the club where she first saw his cold eyes staring at her from the stage. The thought left her faint. She wanted to know everything about him, but she wasn’t sure she wanted the pain of living through it. Already her heart was broken with an unbearably aching emotion. She knew the man she loved was going to die and not from some disease or illness, but to be reborn as a night stalker, a vampire. His soul would be killed perhaps, but his handsome body would be left behind to haunt her with the knowledge of what she couldn’t have.
When the blurring and pitching of her body had stopped, she was at the end of the dock, still dressed as a commoner. Already two salty sea creatures with the appearance of men propositioned her. She stormed away from the drunken louts with heavy threats and a frightened heart. She had no proof that nothing bad could happen to her in this dream world. Every ache and twitch of her body felt very real.
Before meeting the human Servaes, she felt herself falling for his vampire form. But now, after having felt the tenderness of what he once had been, the leftover of what he had become was heart wrenching. His human eyes were so full of life and humor. His smile was careless and radiant.
Tripping on a loosened board, Hathor fell forward to the deck. Pain shot bitterly throughout her stiff body. Her wrist throbbed at the hard jolt. Unexpectedly, she began to cry.
She couldn’t stop the tears, as she looked around from her place on the ground. Wiping her nose on her sleeve, she sniffed, wondering where it was she should go. Before, Servaes had been right there in front of her.
Losing the will to go anywhere, she just lay on the deck waiting to see if anyone would come to her. But the docks were so big, the nearby town so foreign. Looking about only made her cry harder. And then, with a loud sniff, she saw him.
She tried to stand, desperately wanting to call to him. But her body wouldn’t move. Her voice wouldn’t work.
Servaes stepped closer, his face tired and stretched. His eyes were fixed on the ocean. A dark frown marred his brow as he stepped to the edge of the dock. Hathor could see what he contemplated. She knew that he thought of jumping into the dark abyss. His arms lifted from his side, and he leaned weakly forward. Her heart reached out to stop him. Her jaw opened. No sound escaped. She was stuck, frozen like a wayward piece of driftwood, unable to move until time decided she should. Then she saw Jirí, standing in the shadows, watching the unsuspecting man she loved.
With a flash, Jirí was in front of Servaes, stopping him from ending his life. The vampire cocked his head and smiled. Servaes stiffened, backing away. The vampire’s smile widened as he stepped around the nervous young man in inspection. Laughing in giddy pleasure, Jirí came back around to Servaes’ front.
"Ah, my very young Marquis de Normant! I have waited a long time for this gentle eve!" Jirí exclaimed in perfect French. His dark hazel eyes glowed eerily in the moonlight. Hathor ag
ain tried to scream. Her voice sputtered out in a pant that sounded like the howling of the wind. The men didn’t notice.
"Do I know you, monsieur?" Servaes asked defensively. His shoulders straightened, his chin pointed nobly in the air.
"I am your sire, your father. Do you not recognize me, son?" Jirí laughed. Servaes opened his mouth to protest. The vampire held up his hand to stop the words. His face grew serious for only a moment, as he stated, "Or, at least I will be."
"What do you want from me, monsieur? I have nothing," Servaes stated coolly. He held himself tall, brave, as Jirí again drew around him. "And I have no wish for a new father. Mine suited me as well as any other."
"No, he was your human father. I wouldst be much more to you. But, like him, I will give you life." Jirí smiled benevolently, an achingly beautiful smile.
"I will not be blackmailed by you. I thank you for your kindness and your clothes, which I will just as happily return to you. But I have nothing, monsieur. I have become no one. There is nothing I have to offer you." Servaes tried to move away, but Jirí reached a hand to his arm to stop him. Servaes eyed the strange, long fingernails with a sense of growing apprehension. There was power in those pale hands. He could feel it gripping in his arm.
"It is exactly why I want you, my darling Servaes. Because you have nothing, but know everything that I need to. You see, I do not understand your kind." As Jirí spoke, he whispered into one ear and then the other. Neither one noticed Hathor stuck uncomfortably on the ground, her head frozen as she was forced to watch.
When Jirí walked, his back was straight and proper and he carried himself like a true nobleman --cultured and refined. His voice was old, crackled by time. The words carried with them a darkness, as if he himself was of the darkness. The old vampire eyes glinted with fire, as he said softly, "I do not understand all this need for invention and knowledge and equality that you modern men speak of."
"If it is a lesson in modern theology you would like, monsieur, mayhap you should find someone more suited to --" The man’s cold laughter stopped his words. Servaes backed away from him. "I will ask you one last time to leave me be. Unless you can reverse time and give me back what I have lost, then we have nothing to discuss."
"I can’t reverse time, but I can give you more than you ever dreamt possible. I need you. I need you to explain this way of thinking to me. I do not understand it. You do not have lords and peasants anymore. There are these people, these worker peasants who…." Jirí waved his hand with a frown of distaste. Everything about him was dark and beautiful. His face shone like a luring melody of unending measures. "I do not understand the mentality. You will explain it to me. You will connect me once more to the world. And together we will conquer it. What fun we will have, Servaes! What adventures we will experience! What worlds we will taste! And we will rule all of them -- together."
"You’re mad," Servaes whispered. The man ignored him.
"Me thought it best to change you here, in the New World where life is simpler and much easier to control. I wanted to give you time to learn of your new existence. When you master your skills, I will take you back to France. There we will reclaim your title and property. I have already made the arrangements with my man that it should be so."
"You are the one who sent me here? You are the one who ruined my life? Why monsieur?" Servaes demanded angrily. His face turned red with hatred. "Why would you do such a thing to me? I had everything!"
"You only had the illusion of everything. I am offering you a new life, a better life. A life superior to all those nobles you hate. Oui, my darling Marquis, I know you hate them. I can feel you loathing them and despising their ignorance. You are not like them. You are special. That is why I chose you."
"You are mad," Servaes spat, disbelieving. He thought of Hathor, of her sweet face. His heart broke painfully. Here was his answer -- the deranged man in front of him, walking and moving with infinite grace. He was the whole reason he lost her. The loss of her was more painful than the money and the title. He never cared for the privileges of birth. Only with Hathor had he felt truly alive. "Why would I help you after you have ruined me? I should call you out!"
"You will help me, Marquis," Jirí stated, smiling a cruel dark smile. The look replaced all loving tenderness that had been there moments before. Baring his fangs, his eyes glinted red with blood, as he declared in a demented whisper, "Because you will have no choice."
Servaes froze, recognition dawning in his eyes as he realized who the man was. His most torturous ghost! But the realization came too late. Jirí leapt for his throat, grabbing his prey easily by the arms. They flew through the air, stretching the length of the dock. Servaes’ boots bumped noisily, as his heels dragged backwards over the wooden planks. Jirí’s lips locked over his prey’s neck, his teeth sinking into the warm flesh with the stinging precision of a doctor’s needle.
Servaes gasped and fought the vampire’s rapacious hold. The pain in his throat quickly subsided to be replaced by a strange lethargy. He fought the numbness, trying desperately to push his demon from his chest. But soon he was too weak to move. His hands fell limply at his sides. Hathor reached her hand out for him. Tears streamed wildly down her face. Her body trembled violently in fear. She still couldn’t scream.
Within a matter of seconds, Jirí let go. Servaes fell to the ground. His body didn’t move, save for his eyes as they searched up into the stars. The old vampire jerked his head back, blood trailing down over his chin and neck. His red eyes rolled ecstatically in his head. His arms spread wide to caress the ocean’s breath. The vampire fell to his knees with a slow and steady pull forward, landing silently on the noisily creaking wood.
Hathor watched as Jirí bit his own forearm, milking the blood to the surface. Then, grabbing Servaes’ unmoving head, he yanked the dying man’s hair so that his head lay on the ground before him. Jirí stroked his arm, forcing his blood out to drip over Servaes’ parted lips. The crimson liquid began trickling down the man’s throat. Servaes gasped weakly, wheezing with a choke.
"Drink," Jirí whispered huskily. His soft murmurs of comfort washed over the man he held, as he continued, "Join me, my sweet Marquis. Soon the pain will end. I will give you everything."
When Servaes’ lips moved and quivered again, Jirí lifted him up and fitted his mouth to his arm. Servaes’ eyes popped open, the pupils pulled completely red. He sucked the arm like an angry child, starved for food. Soon, his hands were able to grab at the vampire’s arm. Jirí’s laughter could be heard ringing all around them. It chilled the earth with its power.
Hathor shut her eyes, refusing to see anymore. She felt as if it was her life ending on those wretched docks. Her heart slowed and bled for the human Servaes, knowing he could no more fight Jirí’s will than he could his own death.
Suddenly, her aching body began to twist and sway. She knew the dream was ending. She knew that the breaking of her heart could never be mended. Servaes was dead. All she could do was cry for him.
Chapter Thirteen
The ocean’s waves crashed in gentle symphony, urged forth by the night wind. The hard wooden planks beneath her hands ground roughly into Hathor’s palms. She could hear Servaes’ screams of agony all around her, drowning out everything else on the dock. She could hear Jirí’s delighted chuckle as he watched the man die. But then the screams began to fade into the roaring ocean. The hard, unforgiving wood softened against her skin. Her arms became free to move.
With a weak breath, Hathor opened her eyes. Her lashes fluttered lazily against her cheeks. The boards became chilled flesh and hard muscle. Lifting her head, she watched the wound on Servaes’ chest heal right beneath her. The taste of his thick blood was in her mouth. Only an instant had passed, but in her mind it was more than a whole lifetime. An overwhelming pain shot through her as she thought of the country life with the human Servaes she would never have. She drew a ragged breath to calm her cry of agony. The memory was very real.
Pushing up, she
noticed they lay on the hall floor. Servaes’ eyes were closed, his body unmoving. Laying her fingers on his chest, she felt a steady heartbeat beneath the cool flesh. Her hand slid from him to the floor, and she weakly ambled to her unsteady feet. Her journey left her feeling hollow and worn.
Looking down at him, she saw traces of the face she had fallen in love with in the king’s garden. It was not fair of him to do that to her. His face was the same, his body leaner in its form. But she knew that underneath his closed lids would be eyes cold and demanding, not like the mirthful eyes of a handsome nobleman who walked with her in the sunlight. The sunlight was the one place this Servaes couldn’t take her. With him there would be no sunsets or rises, no golden afternoons. The heart of the man died to leave behind the soul of a creature. Hathor began to weep.
Through her tears, she glanced down to the main hall. The light that streamed in from the windows was lighter. Dawn was fast approaching. Servaes hadn’t moved from his place on the floor, his limbs didn’t stir.
"Servaes," she whispered. The sound was throatily and raw. She knew she could leave him. She knew that if she did, he would die, and she would be free of him. But what of the others? Would they soon forget if she let one of their own perish? Would they let her live if Servaes wasn’t around to protect her? And, more than that, would she risk never seeing the man she loved again? For somewhere in the depths of the vampire’s cold dead chest, there had to be a trace of that man. She had to believe it was so.
Hathor dropped to her knees. Placing a hand on his face, she felt the fine, chilled texture rub against her palm. Feebly, she said, "Servaes, you must hurry. The dawn approaches."
Still he didn’t stir. Hathor leaned over, pulling his weight forward to her chest. She couldn’t stop her fingers from stroking his hair as a lock fell before his face. With strength she didn’t know she possessed, she hauled him to his feet. Then, maneuvering his weight onto her back, she began dragging him down the first flight of stairs.
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