by H. T. Night
He motioned for Garvan and me to come to the table. Racco had changed into a more formal outfit, wearing a light blue dress shirt sans a tie. For the moment, his dark dress coat was draped over the back of one of the chairs. Chanson and the red-headed female vampire from a few nights before, Raquel, were seated next to him along with another female whom I didn’t recognize, whose long straight hair was white. Armando and Franz were absent.
“You look rested!” said Chanson, her laugh playful.
She got up from the table and came over to us, seemingly human in her casual saunter. I found it refreshing that a vampire might not feel the need to use their preternatural speed to move from one spot to another. Dressed in black tights with a plum, low-cut sweater dress that accentuated her gorgeous figure, she frowned when she reached us. A little casual compared to everyone else, it worked for her form and presence.
“Raquel, find a suitable vase for these,” she said, motioning for me to give her the bouquet while Raquel suddenly appeared next to her. The diminutive vampire seemed delighted by Chanson’s directive. She immersed her face in the flowers, which made me wonder if this is how she managed to gain such a similar scent. Maybe that’s how they all did it, to gain such distinctive aromas.
I followed Raquel’s progress back to the table with her face still buried in the roses, as if she were determined to drain the very pigment from the crimson bouquet
“What has happened to your ankle?” asked Chanson, drawing my attention back to her. She kneeled before me and took my ankle in her hands. Holding onto Garvan’s arm, I grimaced as she pulled my foot out straight, sending a fiery stinging sensation from my ankle to the tip of my toes. “I should have done something about this when we first met, since I noticed your limp the other night as well.”
Immediately, a surge of warmth traveled down my toes to my ankle. I wanted to giggle, as the pleasure surprised me, but I tried to remain nonchalant since the other vampires sitting around the table stared intently at me.
“My God…this is so unreal!” I whispered, unable to mask my astonishment when the swelling and pain disappeared. “How’d you do that?”
“The same way you can,” she replied, offering a knowing grin as she stood back up. “Any female who bears the teardrops on her neck can do this.”
My gaze was drawn to the left side of her neck, where the small dark birthmarks looked even more like stenciled gang initiation ‘tears’ than mine did, accentuated by her ashen complexion.
“We should introduce her to Nora before she and everyone else decides we are being rude,” said Garvan, a look of sly amusement illuminating his beautiful eyes.
“Yes, I suppose we should,” she agreed. “Come, let’s show you off to the king’s chaperone.”
She led the way back to the table, where the white-haired female stood to greet me. She wore a long elegant evening gown, black silk, seemingly overdressed compared to everyone else. I would’ve felt self-conscious in her presence if not for Chanson’s outfit and the sleek emerald spaghetti-strap dress Raquel wore. I guess when you only have a small circle of immortal peers to impress, anything goes.
If not for the color of her hair, I would’ve assumed this vampire was only a few years older than the others. Her face bore no lines—no tell-tale crow’s feet or smile lines. Just an elegant, classic beauty as she smiled at me. A wonderful floral scent embraced me as she stepped forward, her black-gloved hand extended.
“It’s hyacinth, dearest,” she advised, her light-blue eyes sparkling while she smiled and chuckled warmly. It seemed they all got a kick out of reading my mind and seeing my uncomfortable expression when my thoughts were exposed. Her accent was definitely British, refined, and reminded me of the better BBC programs my mother likes to watch on cable. “I am Nora Sterling, personal assistant to King Gustav Domnul-delael. It is such a pleasure to make your acquaintance, Txema!”
I grasped her hand to politely squeeze it, not overly surprised at the coolness that penetrated the glove’s soft velvet.
“It’s nice to meet you too,” I said, returning her loving smile with my shy one. “Is the king you serve also a vampire?”
“He is the king that we all serve!” offered Racco, who was in the process of ladling a bluish punch concoction into a glass. “Since the mortals among us need standard sustenance, I suggest the rest of you humor Txema, Mercel, and myself as we move into the banquet hall for dinner. For the ‘undead’ gathered with us tonight, I am pleased to announce that the bar is stocked with the finest Type O, B, and RH negative money can buy!”
He laughed merrily, and moved toward a pair of double doors in the rear of the room. I recalled seeing the doors earlier, assuming they opened to a kitchen or someplace similar. The doors automatically opened as we approached, revealing a much larger room, though definitely not the ship’s kitchen.
Surrounded by windows on all sides, a long cherry table sat in the middle of the room, with plush leather chairs around it. The table bore an array of delectable entrees—like roasted chicken and prime rib—a variety of bread, and exquisite deserts. It seemed like an extravagance unless a hell of a lot more servants than attended our earlier meal would be joining us tonight. Two servants, both young females wearing standard chef’s hats stood near the chicken and beef, holding sharp carving knives, ready to serve us.
“Please make yourselves at home while Txema and I get a bite to eat,” said Racco, motioning to our four vampire companions to see Mercel at another long bar in the back of this room. He called to his assistant, giving further instructions in French. Something about joining us at the table after the vamps got a wineglass full of their chosen blood type for the night. I tried not to think long about the mixing and matching that surely took place if any of our vampire companions requested an option beyond the three choices mentioned by Racco.
He motioned for me to join him near the head of the table, and after picking up my plate I followed close behind him, adding more items than I intended, which told me my hunger was worse than I had presumed when Garvan came to get me.
“So, what do you think of our alchemist friend?”
Chanson spoke from behind me, right after I had glimpsed her being served a crimson beverage at the bar. At least her lilac scent forewarned me of her near-instantaneous change of location.
“Do you mean Racco?” I asked, looking over my shoulder.
She nodded with a wry grin on her face. At the time, our host was helping himself to a slice of prime rib on the other side of the table from me.
“We’re not talking about some kind of wizard here, who’s trying to turn lead into gold, are we?”
Now it was my turn to grin wryly.
“Actually, we are,” she said, motioning for me to sit down with her in the middle of the table. I felt a momentary tug of guilt since Racco had asked me to join him in the seat next to his at the table’s head. “He was pretty good at it, too, from what I understand. But that was centuries before I was born.”
“Huh?”
She laughed at my response, pausing to drain the rest of her blood drink, which I was grateful for. If they had just said it was tomato juice or a V8 cocktail, I would’ve been fine with that illusion, instead of knowing that the blood from a fellow human being served as a dinner replacement—regardless of the fact this was a much more humane way to quench her unnatural thirst.
“He told you his last name, did he not?” she asked, playfully, her green eyes aglow from her glee…or was it the blood infusion? “Saint Germain?? Certainly you’ve heard the legend of the only immortal man to ever live?”
“Comte Saint Germain…the German Alchemist that supposedly was a buddy of Louis XV and Voltaire? That Saint Germain??” It seemed unfathomable, although what’s the believability difference between an immortal ‘living’ human and a vampire?
“No, he is not that Saint Germain,” she advised. “It is his younger brother.”
I didn’t know what to say, since it was hard enough to believe
in the existence of the more famous immortal St Germain.
“Racco and Comte were alchemists long before history credits Comte’s earthly existence to have begun, which as you know was supposed to be during the seventeenth to eighteenth centuries,” she explained. “Both of them keep their early exploits on earth a secret, but Gustav once told me they preceded the birth of Christ by three hundred years.”
“How is that even possible?” I couldn’t even begin to wrap my mind around it, glancing over at Racco who had just sat down. I must admit that sexual fantasies about a forty-year-old man are a lot easier to maintain than thinking about sleeping with Methuselah—even if the old man looked as virile and dashing as he did right then. “I remember reading that the Count—Comte Saint Germain—somehow discovered a formula which gave him eternal life. I thought it was a bunch of bullshit. And now you’re telling me it’s all true, and that both he and his brother are immortals?”
“Yes,” she said, raising her glass to toast my glass of champagne. I tried to make sure I didn’t get the lip of my glass too close to the blood residue on hers. “And, to answer your unspoken question, Comte still walks the world in a fairly youthful body as well. But, no one else has ever been able to join them, despite many additional attempts to add companions. So, unfortunately, as the decades, centuries, and millennia have passed, they have grown to loathe each other’s company.”
That made some sense, since despite Racco’s jovial personality, I detected sadness with him. Like he suffered from some lack of fulfillment—despite his lavish ship and boundless charisma.
“He is alone…like us,” she said, obviously the voyeur to my latest silent observation. “Oh, he has tried to recreate the potion that worked for him so long ago, but to no avail. His brother is the only one who knew the exact recipe, and didn’t want to share it with anyone other than Racco. Eventually, even he forgot the calculations and balanced mixture of elements. By the time Comte wanted a companion other than Racco, it was too late. The formula was lost forever, and all attempts to experiment with incomplete versions by both of them have had disastrous effects on the subjects who drank the elixirs.”
I could’ve persisted with the questions, but the rest of the vampires converged around me, Garvan to my other side and Raquel and Nora taking two seats across the table from us. I could see Racco’s irritation—or more likely, sadness—in his expression, since this left him to converse with only Mercel and one of the young server girls for the time being.
“Do not fret for him,” whispered Chanson, who cast a knowing glance across the table at her female companions. “He has us and we have him. Who better to share meaningful friendships than someone who will be here with him at the turn of the next century?”
I guess. I suppose they’ll be talking about me in the past tense if the subject of my present circumstances comes up for discussion at that time.
“Besides, he is too old for you,” added Garvan. He nodded to Racco, who returned his gesture with a reticent version of the same.
“We are all too old for her,” said Raquel, coolly, her comment’s iciness enough to draw Garvan’s ire. I heard a slight hiss escape his mouth as he bore his fangs at her. She responded in kind,
“Children, please!” Nora stood up, alternating her serious expression between them both. “Let’s be pleasant. Find something positive to talk about…you know the rules.”
They both nodded sullenly, which gave me a moment to ask Chanson about something that had bothered me since Garvan and I joined everyone that night.
“Where are Armando and Franz? Will they be joining us later tonight?”
“They are still in Tennessee, tying up some loose ends,” she said. “They will rejoin us shortly after we dock in Perpignan, near the southern Pyrenees Mountains—at least that is the current plan.”
I wanted to ask what they were still doing in Tennessee, but the question would obligate me to find out more specifics about Peter, Tyreen, and Johnny’s fates. Yes, dear reader, all very important details to know…. But with the increasing likelihood it might be awhile before I returned home, I preferred to call someone myself and get the real scoop and not some mixture of truth and deceit.
Instead I broached another question for the time being…one that had been on my mind since my introduction to Nora.
“Who is this King Gustav you mentioned?”
“The oldest civilized vampire,” she said, to which the others nodded supportively. “Or, I should say the oldest living civilized vampire.”
“Is he as old as Racco?” I asked, seeking a comparative reference point.
“Older,” Racco replied, drawing our collective looks to him. He wore a smug grin of satisfaction, likely irritated that the vamps talked about him as if he wasn’t in the room with us. “Older by at least two thousand years….perhaps three.”
Again, the others nodded.
“You’ll be meeting him in a couple of days,” added Raquel. “Once we reach the castle. Racco’s speedboat will get us there by Tuesday morning.”
“And that’s somewhere in France?” I sought to confirm.
“Yes, it is,” said Racco, grabbing his glass of merlot and moving to the chair next to Garvan’s. “It is in the mountains not too far from Perpignan. We call it ‘Le château de douleur’, and hope your presence will provide the warmth it has lacked for many years. And to add to Raquel’s comment, we are currently moving at between eighty and one hundred knots—just fast enough to get there on time and to avoid being mistaken for something we are not.”
I scarcely heard this last part, and everyone’s laughter that followed Garvan’s ensuing joke about being mistaken for a torpedo. But the reference to staying in a French castle sounded permanent, which was exactly what I didn’t want to hear. The stated need to keep me alive was one I could abide by, but I intended for this to be sort of a forced vacation and nothing more. Damned straight, I planned to return home to the states…soon.
Rather than argue the point right then, I simply smiled and nodded in agreement, vaguely certain that despite the vampires open access to my unspoken thoughts this gorgeous middle-aged man had no clue of my intentions.
“Racco mentioned how you wish to call someone in the states,” said Chanson, when the silence that followed turned awkward. “Because of our need to remain undeterred by any outside interference, we can allow you to call only one person. Do you understand?”
She seemed worried again, like her impish persona would only last so long before her deeper feelings would cut through the façade. I so could relate to that.
“Okay,” I agreed, although I wanted to call everybody close to me—just to make sure nobody worried needlessly.
“Who will it be?” asked Garvan, and I’m sure by the look on his face he already knew it would be my boyfriend.
I thought he might voice an objection, but when Chanson handed me a cell phone and showed me how to dial back into the United States, he simply watched me make the call to Peter. I worried what I might say once Peter answered the call, fearing I might choke up and say nothing or forget something important, like a report on Tyreen’s condition.
But he never answered. Just two rings and the call went to voicemail. The second attempt got me the same response.
“Can I please call just one more person,” I pleaded, when Chanson moved to take the handset away from me. She hesitated, and I could tell from her expression that she carefully debated whether this would be wise or not. “I won’t call Tennessee again. Let me call my grandmother in Virginia, and I swear that’ll be it. No more calls after that—I promise!”
Grandma Terese was the only relative I could think of who wouldn’t overreact to what was going on. Yes, she’d be worried. But since there was little I could do about my present circumstances, she was the only one to whom I could honestly share what was happening and trust her to tell my parents and even Peter what they needed to know, and no more. There wasn’t anyone else in my life as gifted in getting their
point across without spilling a secret in the process.
“All right,” Chanson finally agreed, after getting a confirming ‘go ahead’ nod from Nora. “But this will be the only opportunity we can grant you. At least until we arrive on French soil. So, make sure you dial your grandmother’s phone number correctly, Txema.”
“Okay.”
I started dialing Grandma Terese’s number, fearing for a moment I had forgotten it. Chanson told me that we were roughly two hours ahead of America’s Eastern Time zone, which meant my grandmother should be winding down after her dinner. Unless my folks had brought her to stay with them after learning about the latest carnage at UT, and the fact I missed my flight home. I prayed this wasn’t the case, or I’d be screwed completely without anyone back home knowing I was okay and not to worry.
The phone reached its fourth ring and I started to panic.
“Hello?”
“Grandma, it’s me.” I hoped I didn’t sound as excited and relieved as I felt. It was like a lifesaver had just been thrown out to me in the sea of confusion and uncertainty I found myself immersed in.
“Txema!! Where are you?!” She sounded like she had been crying.
“I’m okay, Grandma,” I told her, hoping my tone assured her this was true. I wanted so badly to tell her everything, but knew I’d have to be evasive with most details. “I’m safe, but I can’t explain where I am or even tell you who my protectors are. They saved my life last night—”
“You are with the vampires!” she blurted out, interrupting me. “I thought they would protect their territory when I heard from my cousins in Lourdes last week that Sorne and Nere had been killed. So they have you, yes?”
“Yes, I’m with them,” I admitted, reeling from her keen intuitive knowledge that told her far more than I ever intended revealing. And how in the hell did she know that vampires would have such an interest in her granddaughter? I think this revelation startled my vampire companions, too, as they all perked up. “But I really am safe.”
“So far…,” she agreed, but seemed pensive.