Under the Blood Moon

by Tracie Provost

  After I moved Chris to orient his head north, I lit candles at the four cardinal points around him. I placed ink I had enchanted the night before and my athame within easy reach, and knelt next to the boy. Opening the white linen shirt, I bared Chris’s chest. The hairless expanse would serve as a good canvas for the glyph. Yesterday, I had spoken to Chris about shaving a small section of his chest to give me a clear work area. With an easy grin he told me he ‘manscaped’ and not to worry about anything. I had to ask Sophie later what ‘manscaping’ meant and was amazed to learn that some men intentionally denude themselves of body hair. I had been raised in a culture that regarded body hair as a sign of masculinity.

  Uncapping the ink, I dipped the tip of the athame into it. Very carefully, I broke the top few layers of skin with the knife tip and began drawing the detailed protection glyph. I made sure to keep equal pressure during the scarification process. Too deep and we risked infection, but not deep enough might result in the rune being sloughed or rubbed off. Several times, I had to stop and dip the athame back into the ink. It took the better part of an hour to inscribe the symbol into Chris’s chest. The fight with the werewolf spirit had left the boy so exhausted that he never moved. Finally, when the glyph was complete, I pushed power into it, activating the protection magic. In the time remaining, I warded the soul jar to prevent either accidental or intentional opening and placed the box in the pocket of my robe.

  I could feel dawn coming as I took down the successive circles. Opening the attic door, I found Sophie waiting anxiously in the hallway.

  “It is done,” I said.

  “He is alright then?” the steward asked.

  I nodded. “I expect he will be tired both physically and spiritually for a few days. He may even be a bit sore. Spirit or not, the werewolf had claws and teeth and dug in.”

  “And you are alright as well?” Sophie inquired.

  “I am fine, if a bit hungry.” Very hungry, actually. Even though I had fed before the ritual, the spirit battle and wardings had drained me.

  “I put several bottles of blood in your room. Can you find your way there yourself?” she asked. “I need to take Chris back to his room.”

  “Yes, thank you,” I said and walked down the hall toward the back stairwell.

  I was almost to my assigned room when I realized that I had seen neither the Grandmaster nor his lieutenant after the ritual. That surprised me. Both had been very anxious at the beginning of the evening. I shook off the feeling of foreboding and entered my suite. I had enough time to drink two bottles of blood and change into my night-rail before I needed to seek my bed for the day.

  Chapter 9

  I RAPPED LIGHTLY on one side of the double doors leading to the Grandmaster’s office.

  “Enter.”

  I let myself in and closed the door behind me. Marc stood when I entered. He gestured to the comfortable seating area as usual. “Please, come in and make yourself comfortable.” The Grandmaster’s grim expression was at odds with his hospitable invitation and confused me. The previous night’s ritual had been a success and had been far less taxing on me or Chris than the last time I had performed it. In fact, I had seen the Grandmaster’s nephew on the grand staircase looking buoyant. No, the ritual was not the source for concern.

  “Is something wrong? Has there been another attack?” I asked as I settled onto the sofa.

  Marc nodded gravely. “Yes, but we do not think it was werewolves this time. Would you care for a drink? Vitae, wine, or perhaps something stronger?”

  “I do not need anything, thank you,” I replied, perplexed at his evasion. Marc sat in the chair across from me, templing his hands beneath his chin. My anxiety rose. My father had a similar mannerism when imparting particularly bad news.

  “Madame Grammont . . . Juliette, I’d hoped to have better news to give you at this time.”

  I could feel the panic rising, melding with my confusion. “I am sorry, Monsieur, I do not understand. Better news about what?”

  “A fire broke out at about 2:30 a.m. this morning at Frederique Deroche’s residence in the Garden District. As we both know, the Sabbat was being held at the time. All New Orleans Aether coven members, besides yourself, would have been there. I had hoped to tell you that there were survivors, but repeated calls and visits to members’ havens have produced no results. I have even called your Motherhouse in London, hoping a surviving member had called there, but London has heard nothing.”

  I dug my nails into the dark leather of the armrest. “No survivors?” My voice trembled. I felt tears form but managed to hold them back.

  Marc looked genuinely sad as he shook his head. “It does not appear so. I have vampires and human servants looking for any who might be hurt and need help, but no one has reported anything. I am very sorry.”

  I nodded. “Maybe I will take a glass brandy, if you do not mind.”

  The Grandmaster stood and crossed to the small sideboard bar. “I hesitate to even bring this up, but because of the unrest, we should at least discuss it.”

  “What is that?” I asked.

  Marc poured both of us liberal drams of brandy and returned to his seat, handing me one before answering. “As the only surviving Aether here, you can claim coven leadership.”

  I nearly spat my brandy out, and a good bit of it went down my windpipe. “Me, Coven Mistress?” I sputtered. My throat burned, and the tears I had been holding back burst forth and I coughed to clear my throat.

  Marc waited until I stopped coughing to reply. “You are very powerful, even if you successfully hide it most of the time. Your sire was the Aether lieutenant and next in line for leadership. Unless an Elder has survived and is simply in hiding, you have the best claim.”

  I wiped the tears from my eyes and took a small sip of brandy this time. “But I have been in torpor for over two hundred years. There must be someone more capable.”

  “To be honest, I would prefer not to have someone from outside New Orleans come in and take over the coven. Even if some of the lesser Aether members survived last night’s attack, there are none among them that have the power to be Master or Mistress.”

  “I see.” And I did. The unspoken truth was that I had just done the Grandmaster a great personal service. I had saved his nephew from becoming a werewolf. He did not know me well, but I had proven myself as an ally. Much better to have someone friendly as Aether Mistress than an unknown. He was also correct that I had the power to hold the leadership position.

  “You don’t need to do anything right away, but if none of the Aether Elders come forward, it would be a good idea to state your claim at the Museum Gala in a little over two weeks. We can speak more about this in coming days.”

  I nodded numbly. My mind raced with possibilities and problems.

  “For now, we do need to ensure your safety. Would you like to stay here?”

  I took another sip of brandy and harnessed my thoughts. “I greatly appreciate your hospitality. I believe staying here for a few days would be fine, but if I am to be Coven Mistress, I must be seen as independent from you. As soon as I can make security arrangements, I should move back to my own home.”

  Marc smiled and nodded. “That is very sensible. Sophie can make the necessary arrangements. If you need anything from me, please don’t hesitate to ask.”

  I finished my brandy and stood. “Thank you, Monsieur Gautier.”

  I CLOSED THE door to my chamber and slumped heavily against it. I allowed the tears I had been fighting to flow. A deep and abiding sadness engulfed me as I realized that everything and everyone I had known was now gone. I was alone, truly alone for the first time in my life, and I had no idea what to do. Even when I had fled St. Domingue for New Orleans all those years ago, I had slaves with me. Now there was no one.

  Aether Mistress? The very idea struck me as preposterou
s. I had been gone too long and did not crave power. I would be a target for every Aether looking for a city’s coven to control. I could not imagine the coven without Frederique. Not only had I lost my sire, but I had also lost a good friend. I had seen her only once since my return because of my work with the Grandmaster, but our initial reunion had been friendly.

  I didn’t know how to feel about Andre’s death. Part of me mourned him and what we’d once had, but I had already been doing that. The Andre I had returned to was much changed and we’d grown apart. If I was completely honest with myself, I was also a bit relieved.

  At some point, I had slid down the door and was sitting on the floor. I jumped when a light tap came at the door. I stood up, straightening my skirt and wiping away the blood-tinged tears. Mentally shaking myself, I opened the door. Sophie stood there with a bottle in each hand.

  “You have my deepest condolences, Juliette,” she said.

  “Please come in,” I said and moved aside. Sophie walked into the sitting area and placed the two bottles on the low coffee table.

  “I will not ask how you are. That is clear. I will ask if there is anything I can do to help you,” Sophie said as she walked to the sideboard and retrieved three glasses and a corkscrew.

  I sat heavily on the sofa. “You are very kind to offer but I am not sure yet. I probably should make a list of things that need to be done. There are any number of practical arrangements that need to be made.”

  Sophie uncorked a tan stoneware bottle and poured a small amount of the dark-red liquid into one of the wine glasses. She handed it to me. The vitae had a strong bouquet. I could smell it from quite a distance away. It was the most amazing blood I had ever sampled. It tasted of power, vitality, and greatness. Bottled blood rarely retained the essence of its donor but this had. I looked at Sophie in amazement.

  “I knew you would need something strong to get you through this,” she said. “This is still as potent as the day it was bottled.”

  “Who?” I asked.

  “Napoleon, just after his victory at Austerlitz. My Uncle Claude glamoured him and gathered the blood. It is kept for times such as this,” Sophie said as she recorked the bottle.

  “I am honored that you would share this with me,” I said, a bit dazed. I knew, from the history books Sophie had lent me, what Napoleon had done. He had led France to greatness before he reached too far. “Why are you being so nice to me?”

  Sophie cocked her head and looked at me quizzically. “Juliette, do you not understand the debt this family owes you? You saved my nephew and the New Orleans Gautier heir not once but twice. Chris is more precious to us than I can express. If Marc had his way, the boy would be encased in bubble wrap and never let out of the house. But he understands that is no way to train his heir and that experience is the best teacher. Perhaps we have allowed Chris too much freedom, but he has never abused the privilege.” Sophie stopped, realizing that she had wandered off topic. “Helping you through this dark time is the least we can do.”

  “Thank you.” I wasn’t really satisfied with that answer but left it for now.

  Sophie uncorked the second bottle and poured red wine into the remaining two glasses. “I don’t want to seem to manage you, but I have drawn up a list of things that need to be attended to sooner rather than later,” Sophie said, handing me one of the glasses.

  I laughed. “Sophie, you are the steward. It is your job to manage.”

  She smiled ruefully. “I suppose you are right, but you have done this before.”

  “I don’t mind. I need help. When I came to New Orleans from St. Domingue, I had servants, access to bank accounts, and the names of both my husband’s and my father’s men of business. I have none of these this time.”

  “Well some of those will be easy to get you. Andre’s lawyer is Remy Duquesne. Marc has already contacted him in regards to Andre’s will. Duquesne oversees most of the legal affairs of the Aether coven. He may also have a list of Andre’s bank accounts.”

  “I should have money in my own right unless Andre had me declared dead. The house on Rue Burgundy is mine as well. Or at least it used to be,” I said.

  Sophie thought for a moment. “Remy Duquesne should know where your accounts are then. Of other practical importance, where are you going to live? Do you wish to stay here?”

  “I am grateful for the offer, but I should live in my own home. If it is possible, I will stay here another day or so and then return home.”

  “Have you considered security arrangements?” she asked.

  “There is a security system on the house. I do not know what I would need beyond that.”

  “If you will allow, I will send Gabe over to look at the system and see if it needs to be updated. I can also arrange for you to have a bodyguard.”

  “Having Monsieur Gabe look at the system is fine, but I do not wish a bodyguard.”

  “Why not?”

  “That would proclaim my intention to be Aether mistress, and I am not ready to do that yet.”

  Sophie nodded. “I understand. I will send Gabe to your house and set up a meeting for you with Remy Duquesne.”

  “Thank you. One thing I desperately need is tutoring on who’s who in the covens and the overall political climate here in New Orleans.”

  “Didn’t Andre go over all of this with you?” Sophie asked.

  I shook my head. “There really wasn’t time. I needed to prepare for the ritual and had been dealing with the werewolf attacks. I know it sounds silly, but I did not think there was a great rush.”

  “I can easily walk you through it. As you know, all five covens are represented here. Let’s start with the Gnome coven. Marc is Master and Gabe is lieutenant. Jerome Livaudais, one of the Elders, often runs the day-to-day matters of the coven. He consults regularly with Marc. The other two Elders, Alexander Prichard and Peter Warwick, are scions of old New Orleans families. They patronize any number of philanthropic endeavors in the city,” Sophie explained.

  “Is it usual for a Grandmaster to also serve as Coven Master? It seems as if each position has huge responsibilities,” I said.

  “That is why Jerome sees to day-to-day affairs.”

  I nodded my understanding.

  “The Undine Mistress is Collette St. Pierre. Her lieutenant is Simon Paquet. Collette owns several restaurants, not only in the French Quarter, but in the CBD and Garden District. The Elders, Eugene Miller, Issac Mathieu, and Joseph Leminieux, are always around but are rarely noticed.” That did not surprise me. The Undines were often spies, trafficking in the secrets of both the vampire and human worlds.

  I said, “I believe that Andre mentioned that Tousaint Dubriel is the Sylph Master?” This was more of a leading question than a statement since I was unsure what, if anything, Andre had told me was true.

  “Yes, Tousaint runs art galleries in the French Quarter and the CBD. He is also on the art museum’s board. Josh is his lieutenant.”

  “Josh Bouchard?” I asked. I knew he was powerful and at least an Elder, but somehow the rough-and-tumble exterior had led me to believe he was probably a Salamand or Undine. I thought he was a bit flashy for an Undine, but his friendliness and connections made him the perfect information gatherer.

  Sophie nodded. “He is quite a talented musician. I’ve lost track of all the instruments he plays. Josh owns several of the city’s music venues including Preservation Hall. He is one of the main forces behind the various music festivals both here and over in Lafayette. A lot of people dismiss him because he owns a gay bar, but nothing could be further from the truth.”

  “He is a homosexual?” I asked, a bit disappointed.

  “Not as a rule. You know vampires; sexual preference is fluid with many, especially the Sylph,” Sophie said.

  While my attraction was only to men, I had known a number whose tastes
varied. As Frederique had once said to me, “When you live forever, a steady diet of the same thing becomes boring.” That was probably why monogamy was so rare in our society. “I see,” I said. “And the Sylph Elders?”

  “Emma Turner, Jason Montgomery, and Kristoff Beck. Emma is Josh’s sister and a musician as well. Montgomery is a writer and Beck an artist. All are very prominent.”

  “Well, Sylph rarely hide in the shadows,” I remarked.

  “This is true, but even more so in New Orleans. Many vampires are society fixtures, not just Sylph,” Sophie explained.

  “Does no one worry they will be found out?” I asked.

  “No one believes in real vampires now. There is a cult following of wannabees. If anything, our kind are mistaken for one of them.”

  “How is this possible?”

  “A very concerted media campaign and several Sylph writers creating a non-threatening version of the vampire. Someone even convinced some writer to make them sparkle.”

  “Sparkle?” I asked, not really believing her.

  “Yes.” Sophie rolled her eyes. “The books and movies were wildly and inexplicably popular. As implausible as they were, they served our purpose well.”

  “That is amazing,” I said.

  “If we can just stop these werewolf attacks. This is the closest we’ve been to being discovered in a long time. Luckily there are a number of Salamand on the police force. In fact the commissioner, Paul Barthelmy, is also the Salamand Master. It is because of him our people can usually clean up problems before the humans become involved. Vinny Carlucci is the Salamand lieutenant. Avoid him if you can. He’s a nasty piece of work. Melissa Grau, Doug Callahan, and Lee Gibson are the Elders. Lee is fairly reclusive, but both Doug and Melissa can be very helpful.”