by H. T. Night
I suddenly thought of Tyreen, worrying about her welfare as well as Peter and Johnny’s. I offered a fervent prayer for their safety, trying not to think of the devastation I’d experience if they hadn’t survived the attack on Massey Hall.
I had to find a way to contact them. My cherished iPhone was missing from my coat pocket, which brought immediate remorse, remembering I left it in my backpack in my dorm room.
Shit!
That left me little choice but to explore my surroundings, all the while praying the monster named Ralu or his guardians didn’t jump out from some shadowed hiding place. I decided to explore the right side of the hallway. It could’ve been my superstition to avoid the left, like the silly hopscotch games I played with the kids in my neighborhood growing up. Or, maybe it was because the engine drone sounded louder to my left, which told me the engine room was in that direction. Aside from being in the back of the ship, it would be a great place to get ambushed, without much chance to hear an attacker sneaking up on me.
Not that it would matter when dealing with a supernatural miscreant.
Creeping quietly down the hall, I soon heard voices and footsteps moving across the ceiling above. Near the end of the hallway was a spiral stairway that would take me up to the next level. I cautiously approached, while the voices grew louder. The voices were male and all spoke French.
Great. It would be hit or miss for me at best, in trying to decipher their conversations. I quietly climbed the stairs, careful to not aggravate my ankle any more than necessary. A waiter dashed by the stairway carrying a large tray loaded with pastries. Luckily, he didn’t see me. The aroma of cinnamon and chocolate kindled my hunger.
“Bonjour, Mademoiselle Ybarra!” a young man’s voice boomed from a bar located not far from where I huddled near a short gate that opened up to this level, which I assumed was the main one. I had also assumed the bartender couldn’t see me, but as I peered through the gate rails I saw a handsome blond with slicked back hair smiling at me from the other side of a long bar. He was dressed in a formal black tuxedo with a red cummerbund. The bar’s ornate decor rivaled any I’d ever seen before, even in the more ritzy taverns in downtown Richmond or anywhere in Knoxville. Amid the expensive glasswork were rows of bottles featuring the finest liquor brands in the world, many up until then I had only heard of and never actually seen before.
More embarrassed than wary, since I was dressed most inappropriately, I stood up and smiled shyly. Understanding just enough French to be dangerous, I offered a demur ‘bonjour’ in response. Blue-eyed with a boyish complexion, the bartender nodded and then looked up beyond my line of vision. For a moment he carried on a conversation in an unfamiliar French dialect with someone else, unseen by me on the next floor up, perhaps on a balcony.
“Txema!? So she is awake?”
The rich, mellow voice traveled easily to me from where this unseen male was, almost directly above me. The use of my native tongue instead of the secretive French surprised me.
“Yes, I am!” I called out to this man, hoping he was as unthreatening and approachable as he sounded. “Who are you?”
Silence followed, which heightened my anxiety. I almost spoke again in an effort to clarify my words and intent, but decided not to. The bartender smiled at me again, and I took that as a good thing while sending forth a silent prayer I was right about him.
“Why don’t you come up here?” said the owner of the voice, closer, as if he leaned over the balcony I pictured in my mind. His English was clear, concise, with just a slight trace of an eastern European accent. “You must be famished, and we have a wonderful array of delicacies for you to choose from. Mercel will show you the way.”
The man told the bartender in French to come get me and bring me upstairs, based on my loose translation of the words I could pick out. The bartender, who I assumed was Mercel, smiled and came up to me and opened the gate, and I stepped through it, surprised at how weak my legs felt.
A glance around me confirmed more of the same exquisite workmanship on the cabinetry, paneling, and floors although the ship was not as big as I initially thought. The ship’s bow was a mere thirty feet from where I stood, and I assumed the engines I heard marked where the stern sat. So, maybe it was one hundred and twenty feet in length? That would be a fair estimate. A yacht, it would still be considered large by that standard.
Mercel led me over to another circular staircase, and once we climbed up to the next level, the mysterious man I had conversed with a minute or so earlier appeared before us. Strikingly handsome, with mirthful blue eyes and dimpled cheeks when he smiled, his jet black hair was laced with thin white streaks along the temples. Seemingly older than anyone I’d met lately, excluding the garish Ralu, his presence exuded strongly from where he stood. No doubt heads turned whenever this person entered a room, and I’m sure the swoon of women would be a tiresome event for such a man. Just enough facial lines to indicate maturity, his full hairline told me he couldn’t be any older than forty.
Any female, regardless of age, would find him desirable. Especially if he addressed them like he spoke to me right after Mercel and I stepped into the yacht’s large dining area.
“Txema, it is indeed a pleasure to finally meet the girl who has caused such a ruckus in the vampire world!”
He chuckled warmly, and then motioned for me to join him at a large table in the center of the room. Surrounded by windows, the view of endless miles of deep water and the sun behind us confirmed we were headed east. On the great Atlantic. To France? That was the logical assumption.
“If you prefer, Mercel or myself will gladly prepare a plate for you, or you may help yourself,” he advised. “It appears you have an injury to your right foot. Would you like for me to look at it? I have some medical knowledge that may help.”
He pulled a chair out for me to sit down in at the table when I waved off his offer about my foot. I couldn’t even remember the last time a male had done that for me, certain it would’ve been my father when I was a young girl.
“Thank you, I will help myself,” I told him, thinking forthright confidence on my part could only enhance my position. “My ankle will be all right…I just need to go easy with it.”
I decided right then to guard myself against his copious charms. He carried himself with such regality, and seeing Mercel’s similar infatuation to my own told me this man must either be the owner of this vessel or its captain. Still, I found it hard to picture a captain dressed like a jet-setting playboy, wearing an expensive burgundy sweater and tan slacks. I didn’t think the man’s Gucci shoes would be considered standard naval fare either.
“Who are you?” I asked again, deciding the mystery to this man’s identity had prolonged far enough.
“I am Raccczis de Saint Germain,” he advised, while filling a plate with shrimp and caviar, along with a handful of crackers. “I am pleased to be your host, and you may call me Racco. Did you enjoy a good rest in the room that Chanson picked out for you? If not, I can arrange for better accommodations on my ship.”
“I guess it was all right…is she the one who brought me here?”
“Yes, she and Garvan carried you on board back in Charleston, South Carolina,” he confirmed. “We should reach our destination sometime Tuesday morning.”
“Where is that?”
A lump formed in my throat as I asked this question, immediately alarmed that not only was I already far from either Tennessee or Virginia, but moving farther away by the minute. Chanson had asked me to return to France, and made it clear that she and her vampire partners would override my initial decision to stay at the University if it became necessary. An all-out attack by the ‘others’ would definitely count as a qualifying event, I’m sure.
“We are headed to the south of France,” he said, motioning for Mercel to pour him a glass of red wine. “Would you like something other than water to drink, Txema?”
He pointed to the Perrier bottle I presently held. So far I had settled on a lar
ge cinnamon roll and a slice from a chocolate torte. To make sure I didn’t throw myself into a sugar high followed by a painful crash, I added a few shrimp as well.
“No…not yet, anyway,” I told him, waving off his offer. “I suppose there’s no way to talk you into taking me back to Virginia, is there?”
I could only imagine the extreme worry and pain my parents were suffering right then, as surely they had no idea I survived the previous night’s attack. I hadn’t checked my watch until that moment, and it read 1:17 p.m. Eastern time. Judging from the sun’s position, it was a couple of hours later that afternoon in the mid-Atlantic. The fact I slept so long—at least eighteen hours by my calculations—was especially alarming.
“While I understand your concerns about family and friends in the United States, the decision to turn back is not mine or yours to make,” he advised, his tone compassionate. His expression turned serious as he studied me, and then he sighed. “You are fortunate to be alive, Txema, and after the near-successful extermination of your relatives who bear your rare gift, I am sad to say that it may be quite some time before you can return safely to your home in Virginia, or pursue your education anywhere in America.”
I nodded quietly, determined to hide the ever-worsening dread ready to seize my heart. But he was right…I didn’t need further evidence to understand the truth of his words. The images of Tyreen’s wounds and Elaine Johnson’s death more than sufficed—not to mention the other girls that had died earlier who bore my likeness.
“Perhaps when Chanson and the others awake, they will allow you to place a phone call to your parents in Virginia, eh?” he suggested, the infectious warmth from his smile illuminating his countenance and fueling his natural presence. Racco’s persona exuded such sex appeal.
“That would be nice,” I agreed, trying to not think long on what it would be like to lie naked with this man who surely was old enough to be my father. “So, how bad was it?”
“How bad was what?”
“The attack. The one in Tennessee.”
“I’ve only heard the initial reports,” he advised, shifting uncomfortably in his chair. “Thirteen deaths in all last night, and another two dozen were injured—most while fleeing the dormitory.”
“Massey Hall?” Not to be morbid, but I needed to be sure we spoke of the same place.
“Yes, that is the one,” he confirmed. “Chanson told me it was Garvan who urged her and Armando to stay close to you last night, instead of waiting on your promised call to them for help. I assume you know what she meant by this?”
“Yes….I tend to be a little on the stubborn side.” I smiled, sheepish.
“No? You don’t say!” he teased.
“Okay, I’m known to be quite stubborn,” I confessed, and for the first time that day chuckled. It felt good, even if it only lifted my sadness for a moment.
“I wish I could tell you more about what happened, but that is all they told me when they arrived at the boat, just before midnight,” he said. He motioned for Mercel to help himself to some of the food. It seemed like an extravagance for just Racco and me, and even after including Mercel. But then Racco called the waiters over and invited them to join us as well. “I hate for all of this to go to waste. Dinner will be in just a few hours, and normally the staff eats earlier.”
The impish glint in his eyes let me know this was a playful jab at me and my late arousal that afternoon.
“You all are not vampires…correct?”
Silly question based on what I’d seen. Moving about in the daylight and eating solid food and non-blood fluids. Even so, I wanted to be sure. Besides, the real questions I wanted to ask, involving the fate of Peter, Tyreen, and Johnny, would have to wait until the sleeping vampires awoke.
“Ha! That is very funny!” He laughed heartily, and when Mercel and the two waiters, who looked like Mercel’s younger brothers, acted confused, Racco spoke to them in that strange French dialect again. The entire table erupted into uproarious laughter. All at my expense.
To be a good sport, I joined in, snickering at the silliness of my suggestion. Never in a million years would I have uttered anything like this just a week earlier.
“Maybe you could use some time to rest up before tonight,” Racco suggested. “When you return to your room, you will find fresh towels and linens, in addition to a change of clothes waiting for you. Your size information was given to me by Chanson late last week, to ensure your every need was expediently provided for.”
“That sounds like a good idea,” I said, wondering how extensive the vampires’ and my current host’s knowledge of me was. “I could use a shower.”
“All right, then. Mercel will show you back downstairs to your cabin, and we will look for you around eight o’clock tonight.”
After Racco gave another advisement in French to his assistant, Mercel led me back downstairs, allowing me to find my way back to my room once we reached the bottom floor.
Racco was right…in addition to the bed I slept in being made up, clean towels and the change of clothes he promised were waiting for me on top of the bedspread. I smiled for a moment, as the green silk blouse and black slacks were exactly the style I would have chosen for myself. Even the shoes were a good match for my taste, though quite a bit more money than I could’ve afforded on my own.
I continued to smile until I stepped into the bathroom and removed my sweatshirt. Under the overhead light’s soft glow, the twin teardrops along the left side of my neck were swollen and red. I’m sure at some point during the previous nineteen hours they were fully inflamed, and definitely the exit points for my blood. A vampire had drunk from me, no doubt, and taken far more blood than last time. Enough to leave two angry welts above my birthmarks and keep me dead to the world until it was far too late to turn back and go home.
Chapter 13
A long warm bath did wonders for my fatigue, and it helped ease the soreness in my ankle…at least a little. Until I tried to stand on it.
I nearly fell over in the bathroom. But once I regained my balance and relied more on my left foot, I managed to dry my hair and get dressed without further incident. Just before 7:30 p.m., according to a large seaman’s clock on the wall across from the bed, a sharp knock resounded from the other side of my door.
“Who is it?”
“It is me, Garvan.”
“Garvan?”
“Yes. I am here to escort you to dinner,” he replied. “I assume you are ready to leave your room?”
I looked around me, just to be sure, and yes, he was correct. Even my makeup and lipstick were done, and I had already collected my billfold that held my driver’s license and student I.D.
“Yes, I’m ready,” I said, reaching for the door. I hesitated a moment, taking a deep breath before opening it. The image of Garvan’s gorgeous face and intense green eyes previously emblazoned in my mind proved to be an inadequate replica of seeing the real thing again. Once I opened the door, I found him smiling at me, carrying a bouquet of fresh roses, blood red. Nearly two dozen in all.
“What are these for?” I asked, surprised but pleased. I felt my face flush.
“For you, of course,” he replied, his boyish face lit up by his enraptured smile. Somehow he looked younger. “Think of these as my apologies for the sorrow and terror you have endured since we first met, just five days ago.”
“It’s not like it was your fault,” I said, graciously accepting the roses from him. “But I am touched…who would have guessed a vampire could be so thoughtful?”
I hoped he saw my joke as a genuine lighthearted effort and not the sarcasm I realized a little too late that it could be taken as. I do it a lot, inserting my foot in my mouth.
“We are not all cold-hearted snakes with only one thing on our minds,” he quipped, his smile dimmer than a moment ago, although he snickered in amusement.
“What, are we talking about sex?” I jested playfully, closing my cabin’s door. I kept the bouquet with me.
�
��Maybe back in the time when Columbus sailed to your country that would aptly define my intentions,” he said, his smile widening to where his slender fangs were visible. He seemed delighted I held the roses instead of depositing them in the darkness of my room. Garvan motioned for me to wrap my arm inside his, and I drew close. The scent of cinnamon again, just like the last time we were close to one another. “Right this way, please!”
We headed down the hallway toward the staircase, the coolness of his presence chilling me beyond the reach of the heater fans hard at work now that the sun had gone down. But what a couple we made at the moment: him dressed in a beige turtleneck sweater and dark tweed slacks and black dress boots, and me attired smartly beyond my normal means. At least the ship’s ceiling mirror near the stairs gave that impression, also dispelling another vampire myth for me. They do cast reflections. Or at least this one did.
“So, what would be on a vampire’s mind?” I asked, while we climbed the spiral staircase. He followed close behind me, and a glance over my shoulder revealed his gaze was drawn to my right foot. I had tried to feign a normal walk to hide my injury. “Certainly not a woman’s shoes.”
“You are such a jester, Txema!” he said, looking up into my face. His expression mirthful, his eyes seemed concerned. “What a male vampire wants is the same as any other blood drinker.”
“And, what’s that?” I persisted. We had just reached the gate near the long bar from earlier. It sat deserted at the moment, although jovial laughter and merriment resounded from the dining area above us.
“Companionship,” he replied, drawing a surprised look from me. “Companionship and blood.”
***
“Well, here she is!” Racco stepped away from the table where we had sat together a few hours earlier. Replacing the food array was a double-necked swan ice sculpture with what looked like a punchbowl attached. “And what lovely flowers, Txema! We were just talking about you and your ordeal from last night.”