Andre pushed a series of buttons on a panel by the front door before unlocking it and allowing me inside.
“What is that?” I asked, peering over his shoulder.
“The alarm. If anyone tries to enter without the code, a siren sounds, and the alarm company is notified. The company is owned by a vampire, so our secret is safe and their response time is very rapid. Much better than relying on the New Orleans police.”
“What about during the day? Human servants?”
“Yes.” Andre followed me inside, shutting and locking the door behind us. “To set the alarm, just type 1794 on the keypad here and press enter. The light will turn from green to red. To disarm it, do the same thing. The light will turn from red to green.” He demonstrated this and suddenly an eerie, hollow female voice said, “Alarm set,” causing me to jump.
“Who was that?” I asked looking around.
Andre laughed. “There is no one else here. The alarm talks. It is electronic . . . um, mechanical.” He wrapped his arms around me, pulling us close. “You have missed so much. I hardly know where to begin explaining things to you.”
I was not in the mood to be placated, and pushed against him. “You can start by telling me why you treated me so horridly at the Grandmaster’s house.”
Andre looked genuinely confused. “What are you talking about, Ma chérie?”
“First you present me to a man I don’t know, looking like this,” I said, gesturing to my ruined gown and bare feet. “If it had been Frederique, or maybe even Claude, who would have just been glad to see me after all this time, it might have been alright, but I hardly made a sterling impression looking like this.”
“You are worried about how you looked? After what you did saving Christopher’s life?” Andre asked.
“Rather fortuitous, my being there at that time,” I said.
“What are you insinuating, Juliette?”
“Not a thing. Just making an observation.”
“I don’t like your tone.”
“Well, I don’t like you answering for me. I have a brain in my head, and you certainly never felt the need to speak for me before.”
“I did that to protect you.” Andre was being infuriatingly reasonable, and I wanted to fight.
“From what?” I demanded. I did not want to be placated. I had spent two hundred years in a crypt and I wanted answers.
“Marc is not a nice man.”
“Of course he isn’t. He is Grandmaster. Kindness does not win you that office.”
“You don’t understand.”
“Explain it to me then,” I said.
“What he did to Claude was . . . unspeakable,” Andre said.
“Try.” I was not in the mood to be coddled or put off.
“In 1803, Napoleon sold the Louisiana colony to the Americans. Things were chaotic in the city during the transition. Marc made his move then. He came down from Montreal and walked, bold as brass, into Claude’s office. Took Claude’s head without saying a word to him and then declared himself Grandmaster.”
“What about Frederique? She shared power with Claude.”
“She rolled over. Never said a word. Never contested Marc’s sole rule,” Andre said dismissively.
And I saw the rub. Andre had been demoted. He had gone from co-lieutenant of the city to simply coven lieutenant. Andre craved power in a way I had never understood. Honestly had never tried to understand. Part of it was my background. I was a pampered eldest child. While I was not the male heir that my father craved, I was never made to feel the lesser. Andre never spoke of his family, and that, in itself, was telling. I had heard rumors, many of which I had dismissed, that he was the bastard son of a French lord who refused to acknowledge him. Perhaps that was why he craved power so.
I now knew why Andre disliked Marc so much, but I still did not understand why it was so important that I be presented to the Grandmaster without even the chance to bathe and change clothes. “I still do not see what I needed to be protected from,” I said.
“I was afraid he might destroy you or both of us,” Andre said in a quiet tone.
“Destroy us? Why?”
“For breaking progeny presentation rules.”
I stared at him in disbelief. “For breaking presentation rules? Have they somehow changed in the past two centuries?” Sires had three days in which to present newly created progeny to the Grandmaster; or at least they’d had in 1797. Although, I wasn’t sure how this applied to me anyway. I was not a newly created vampire, and any vampire who was newly arrived in a city or territory still had three days to see the Grandmaster. None of this made any sense to me.
“No, they have not changed, but your circumstances don’t fit any presentation rules. You have been in the city continually but have never been presented to the Grandmaster,” Andre said.
“I’ve been staked for two centuries,” I said, stating the obvious. It seemed to me that my sire was grasping to provide a reasonable explanation and failing miserably.
“Gautier is looking for any excuse to get rid of me.” This I found slightly more believable. It had been clear to me that Andre was a tolerated presence but nothing more. This was still a very thin reason. Any Grandmaster who would kill sire and progeny under these circumstances would be seen as capricious and unstable. Marc Gautier did not strike me as either.
I sighed heavily.
“Juliette, I do not wish to fight. I did what I thought was best to protect us. Please accept this,” Andre said.
While in no way satisfied with any of these explanations, I decided to let the matter drop.
“Before I forget, when the alarm is on, make sure not to open any of the doors or windows. If you forget, just go to the nearest keypad and punch in the code. There are pads next to all the outside doors.”
I nodded. It sounded simple enough.
“Come, I will show you the rest of the house. I also had it redecorated while you were gone,” Andre said proudly.
He makes it sound as if I went upriver to spend the summer at a friend’s plantation.
My quaint Creole cottage had indeed been remodeled. Instead of the front door opening into my spacious formal parlor, I now stood in a much smaller foyer. The corner fireplace looked out of place in this room. The plain brick mantle had been replaced by an ornate plaster facade. Above it, a huge gilt mirror was flanked by portraits, one of Andre and one of me. They were the only familiar things in the room. A thick, blue Persian carpet with a gold fleur-de-lis in its center blanketed the floor. The only furniture in the room was an overly ornate Louis XIV style centre table, positioned in the middle of the room. A large arrangement of fresh flowers sat atop the walnut and gilt surface. Above it hung a hideous chandelier that literally dripped with gold and crystal. Fat cherubs and bare-breasted angels stared down at me from the ceiling mural. I had a dreadful feeling about the rest of the house.
The library and formal parlor were garish. There was a not-so-small fortune in gilt just in those two rooms. None of the furniture looked in the least bit comfortable, and I would have thought some of it might have come from some medieval torture chamber had it not been for all the gold. Any piece of furniture or molding that could have gold overlay, did. All my worn and mismatched tomes had been replaced by pristine leather volumes that Andre probably never opened. I thought the mural in the formal parlor a bit risqué but simply put a smile on my face to hide my dismay. Andre seemed so pleased with the decor that I did not have the energy to tell him I thought it overdone and that I hated the way the house now looked. It would not have done any good and I did not wish to start another fight.
The next room, my formal dining room, left me speechless. I am not a prude, but the mural, taking up three and a half walls, was pornographic. Satyrs and nymphs cavorted and fornicated in at least sixteen different position
s, several of which I had serious doubt were even possible. I had never seen anything this explicit. I would never be able to host a party and use this room. Andre gushed at how there was not another mural like this in the New World. He said that he had imported a painter from Italy to recreate a room from a French chateau. I wondered where my Caravaggio and Gentileschi were. Andre took no notice of my horror and guided me into the kitchen.
Much to my relief, there were no nude paintings or gold. I found this room a respite from the garishness of the rest of the house. I forced myself to pay attention as Andre explained how the kitchen had been moved into the house early in the previous century when the risk of fire diminished. He gave a whirlwind description of the various gleaming silver appliances—about half of which I did not understand. Tomorrow, I would need to ask again about some of these items.
The door that previously led to a storage room now led to a large wine cellar. Racks upon racks of bottles covered the walls. There must have been several hundred bottles in this room, and if I knew Andre, they were all vintage. He pulled a bottle from the shelf, saying, “We should celebrate your homecoming.”
I shook my head. “I am sorry, but I am too tired. The magic has sapped me.”
“Oh!” he said, startled. “I didn’t realize.”
“It is fine. I just need to rest soon.”
“Let’s finish the tour then.”
He typed in the code on the keypad and led me through the French doors to the loggia. Again, the furniture seemed too formal and uncomfortable. A fat cherub sat in one corner urinating into a small fountain. The courtyard, which had sheltered my large herb garden, now held a large cement pond. Classical nude statues dotted the yard. I turned away to hide my despair. Letting myself back in through a different set of double doors, I found myself in a new section of the house. This area must have been added during the renovation.
Andre walked passed me and pointed out a small bathroom. He then led me down a short hallway. On one side of the hall, several sets of French doors led out to the courtyard. On the other side were two closed doors. The nearest opened to the master suite.
I had seen worse in Paris. Having said that, the room was atrocious. The color scheme was not red, as I half expected, but purple and black, heavily accented in fur and gold. The same artist had obviously also painted the two wall murals here. Again, life-sized nymphs and satyrs cavorted and engaged in near impossible sexual acts in graphic detail. Then I noticed the mirror on the ceiling and cringed. An open door led to the en-suite bathroom.
I asked, “Does the last door in the hallway lead to another bedroom?”
“It is just a guest room. I never got around to having it decorated.”
“I would like to see it,” I said. Andre shrugged and led me to the second bedroom.
This was another oasis. My bedroom furniture had been shifted to this room. The heavy mahogany four-poster bed dominated one wall. The rich green and cream bed hangings were worn but serviceable. There were no murals marring these walls, but instead I found my Caravaggio and Gentileschi paintings hanging. My small writing desk was also here.
Was this to be my room? Part of me hoped it was. I was very unsure of my feelings about Andre at this moment.
“Before you fall asleep on your feet, why don’t we get you a bath. I’m sure you would love a long soak,” Andre said.
He wasn’t wrong. I docilely followed him back to the master bathroom. There, he turned on the faucets to fill the large copper tub. “You should adjust the temperature to suit you,” he said as he added some sandalwood to the bath. “Do you know how?”
“Yes, Sophie introduced me to the wonders of modern plumbing,” I said.
“Do you need help undressing?” he asked. I thought I detected a trace of the old Andre lasciviousness.
“I will need help with my corset,” I smiled.
Andre pulled off my shawl and deftly unfastened the hooks at the back of my gown. It slid to the floor in a pool of brown velvet, sending up a plume of dust. Andre chuckled. “I really should have brought you home and let you change first. I am sorry, Ma chérie.”
I was almost ready to forgive him, but not quite yet.
“I do have good news for you though. Women’s undergarments have changed. No more corsets. At least, not unless you want them. That should delight you since I know how much you detest them.” His nimble fingers unlaced the garment, and it joined my gown in the heap at my feet. My chemise quickly followed.
Helping me into the tub, Andre kissed me gently. “Soak a while. I will be back soon.”
When Andre returned, he had donned a navy-blue silk robe, tied casually at the waist, leaving most of his magnificent chest visible. I knew he had done it on purpose, and smiled. Andre carried a bottle of champagne and two glasses. Tucked under one arm were several fluffy white towels. After placing the items on the counter, he lit candles around the bathroom and dimmed the overhead light. When he finished, Andre popped the cork and poured two glasses. “I know you said you were tired, but one glass shouldn’t hurt.” Handing one glass to me, he proposed a toast, “To our long-awaited reunion.” This was the Andre I remembered, and I happily drank.
Putting his champagne on the counter, Andre picked up a sponge and squeezed some soap onto it. Lathering one of my arms, he said, “I will play lady’s maid this night.” He took the champagne flute from my hand and proceeded to sponge every inch of me. When the water began to chill, Andre added more.
I was quite relaxed by then. I closed my eyes as he ran his fingers through my hair. He stood and took a pitcher from the cabinet that dominated one wall. He filled it with warm water from the tap. “Tip your head back, Ma chérie. Let me wash your hair.”
After he wet my hair, Andre spent a long time shampooing it and massaging my scalp. “How does that feel?”
“Heavenly,” I sighed.
“Tip your head back again so I can rinse it.” It took several pitchers to work all of the shampoo from my hair. When done, he carefully helped me out of the tub and enveloped me in one of the fluffy white towels he had brought in earlier. He gently dried me and pulled another robe from the hook on the back of the bathroom door, this one a deep forest green. By the size, I knew it was his.
“I’m sorry I have nothing to fit you, my sweet. We will go shopping tomorrow.”
I smiled. “It is alright. It smells of you.”
Andre led me to the vanity and bade me to sit. He began to comb out my long hair. “This will never dry before dawn,” I sighed.
“Ah, but it will. It is called a hairdryer.” He then reached into a vanity drawer and pulled out an oddly shaped device with a long string attached to it. Then he plugged the string into the wall. A low whine and warm air emitted from it. The wind felt wonderful and I reveled in it. My hair dried much more quickly than I ever imagined. It fell in thick, black waves all the way down my back.
After putting the hair dryer down, Andre took my hand. “Come, my sweet, let me tuck you in.”
Chapter 4
I SLOWLY BECAME aware sometime after full dark. It was much nicer than last evening’s abrupt return to reality. I was alone in the large master bed, but that did not surprise me. I always had been a late sleeper and Andre sometimes awoke from his day’s slumber hours before I did. Usually he fell asleep in the mornings before I did, although not the previous night. After he had tucked me, clean and warm, into the master bed, Andre had kissed me gently and told me he needed to check the house one last time. I was asleep before he returned.
My hunger was back but not nearly as pressing as before. I should be able to control it now. I stretched languidly and pulled on the robe from the previous night. I ran a brush quickly through my tangled hair and went to find Andre. I needed to feed, and at some point this evening, I would need to visit the Grandmaster’s nephew to check on his progress. I was
rested enough that I could heal him fully. I wished I could remove the lycanthropy with my thaumaturgy but knew from experience that that was beyond my internal power. I would need a very specific ritual to draw the wolf out and then defeat him. There was a spiritual component to both lycanthropy and vampirism that resisted my thaumaturgy.
I found Andre sitting on the loggia, feet propped upon the coffee table, reading a newspaper. I opened the French doors and joined him. He looked up at my entrance and gave me a vague smile. Waving to the coffee service near his boots, he said, “There is fresh coffee, my dear. Did you rest well?”
I joined him, perching on the uncomfortable low sofa. “Yes, I rested well. Thank you,” I said as I lifted the coffee pot to my nose and sniffed its contents. It was truly still fresh. Some vampires retained the ability to eat or drink after the change. Andre was still able to eat and drink normally. I was not so lucky, being unable to eat at all and severely limited in my choice of beverages. Because of this restriction, quality was very important to me. Andre was much less discerning about his coffee than I was. Having been the mistress of a large coffee plantation on St. Domingue, I had definite ideas about what good coffee was and was not.
Andre quirked an eyebrow as he went back to reading his paper. “I brewed it not ten minutes ago. I know how picky you are about it.”
I smiled and poured myself a cup. “You are the same way about wine. Nothing but the finest vintage will pass your lips,” I reminded him.
“Poor quality wine is not worth drinking,” Andre announced.
“I feel the same way about coffee.” This was familiar. We’d had this particular discussion a number of times after my turning.
“Sophie La Tellier called earlier. The Grandmaster would like to see you,” Andre said as he folded his newspaper and placed it on the table.
“What time?” I asked, suddenly worried.
Under the Blood Moon Page 4