by Rice, Anne
We found her door open as always, and we entered unobtrusively, but she saw us at once.
The moment I saw her I felt a heartbreaking desire for a certain kind of intimacy, that is, I wanted to tell her everything that had happened! Of course this was forbidden, and that I could love her without confiding in her—this was something that Marius insisted I learn.
She got up and came to me, and put her arms around me, accepting the usual ardent kisses. I realized at once why Marius had insisted on two victims for this evening. I was warm and flushed with blood.
Bianca felt nothing that frightened her. She slipped her silken arms around my neck. She was radiant in a dress of yellow silk tissue and dark-green velvet, the underdress of yellow, powdered with embroidered roses, and her white breasts were barely covered as only a courtesan would have them.
When I began to kiss her, careful to conceal my tiny fanged teeth from her, I felt no hunger because the blood of my victims had been more than enough. I kissed her with love and love only, my mind quickly plunging into heated erotic memories, my body surely demonstrating the urgency that it had had with her in the past. I wanted to touch her all over, as a blind man might touch a sculpture, the better to see each curve of her with his hands.
“Oh, you’re not only well, you’re splendid,” Bianca said. “You and Marius, come in, come, let’s go into the next room.” She made a careless gesture to her guests, who were all busy anyway, talking, arguing, playing cards in small groups. She drew us with her into her more intimate parlor adjacent to the bedroom, a room cluttered with frightfully expensive damask chairs and couches, and told me to sit down.
I remembered the candles, that I must never get too close to them, but must use the shadows so no mortal would have an optimum opportunity to study my changed and more perfect skin.
This wasn’t so hard as, in spite of her love of light and her penchant for luxury, she had the candelabra scattered for the mood.
The lack of light would also make the sparkle of my eyes less noticeable; I knew this too. And the more I spoke, the more animated I became, the more human I would appear.
Stillness was dangerous for us when we were among mortals, Marius had taught me, for in stillness we appear flawless and unearthly and finally even faintly horrible to mortals, who sense that we are not what we seem.
I followed all these rules. But I was overcome with anxiety that I could never tell her what had been done to me. I started to talk. I explained that the illness had abated entirely, but that Marius, wiser by far than any physician, had ordered solitude and rest. When I had not been in bed, I had been alone, struggling to regain my strength.
“Make it as near to the truth as you can, the better to make it a lie,” Marius had taught. Now I followed these words.
“Oh, but I thought I’d lost you,” she said. “When you sent word, Marius, that he was recovering, I didn’t at first believe you. I thought you meant to soften the inevitable truth.”
How lovely she was, a perfect flower. Her blond hair was parted in the middle, and a thick lock on either side was wound with pearls and bound back with a clasp encrusted with them. The rest of her hair fell down à la Botticelli, in rivulets of shining yellow over her shoulders.
“You had cured him as completely as any human being could,” Marius told her. “My task was to give him some old remedies of which only I know. And then to let the remedies do their work.” He spoke simply, but to me he seemed sad.
A terrible sadness gripped me. I couldn’t tell her what I was, or how different she seemed now, how richly opaque with human blood she seemed compared to us, and how her voice had taken on for me a new timbre that was purely human, and which gently nudged my senses if she but said one word.
“Well, you are both here, and you must both come often,” she said. “Don’t ever let such a separation occur again. Marius, I would have come to you, but Riccardo told me you wanted peace and quiet. I would have nursed Amadeo in any state.”
“I know you would have, my darling,” Marius said. “But as I said, it was solitude he needed, and your beauty is an intoxicant, and your words a stimulus more intense perhaps than you realize.” It had no tone of flattery but sounded like a sincere confession.
She shook her head a little sadly. “I’ve discovered that Venice is not my home unless you’re here.” She looked cautiously towards the front parlor, and then she lapsed into a low voice. “Marius, you freed me from those who had a hold on me.”
“That was simple enough,” he said. “It was a pleasure, in fact. How rank those men were, cousins of yours, if I’m not mistaken, and eager to use you and your great reputation for beauty in their twisted financial affairs.”
She blushed, and I lifted my hand to beg him to go easy with what he said. I knew now that during the slaughter of the Florentine banquet chamber, he had read from the victims’ minds all kinds of things which were unknown to me.
“Cousins? Perhaps,” she said. “I have conveniently forgotten that. That they were a terror to those whom they lured into expensive loans and dangerous opportunities, that I can say without a doubt. Marius, the strangest things have happened, things upon which I never counted.”
I loved the look of seriousness on her delicate features. She seemed too beautiful to have a brain.
“I find myself richer,” she said, “as I can keep the larger portion of my own income, and others—this is the strange part—others, in gratitude that our banker and our extortionist is gone, have lavished on me countless gifts of gold and jewels, yes, even this necklace, look, and you know these are all sea pearls and matched in size, and this is a veritable rope of them, see, and all this is given me, though I have averred a hundred times that I never had the deed done.”
“But what of blame?” I asked. “What of the danger of a public accusation?”
“They have no defenders or mourners,” she said quickly. She planted another little bouquet of kisses on my cheek. “And earlier today, my friends among the Great Council were here as always, to read a few new poems to me and settle in quiet where they could know peace from clients and the endless demands of their families. No, I don’t think anyone is going to accuse me of anything, and as everyone knows, on the night of the murders, I was here in company with that awful Englishman, Amadeo, the very one who tried to kill you, who has of course …”
“Yes, what?” I asked.
Marius narrowed his eyes as he looked at me. He made a light gesture of tapping the side of his head with his gloved finger. Read her mind, he meant. But I couldn’t think of such a thing. Her face was too pretty.
“The Englishman,” she said, “who has disappeared. I suspect he’s drowned somewhere, that, staggering drunk about the town, he fell into one of the canals or, worse yet, into the lagoon.”
Of course my Master had told me that he had taken care of all our difficulties on account of the Englishman, but I had never asked in what particular way.
“So they think you hired killers to dispatch the Florentines?” Marius asked her.
“Seems so,” she said. “And there are even those who think that I had the Englishman dispatched as well. I’ve become a rather powerful woman, Marius.”
Both of them laughed, his laugh the deep but metallic laugh of a preternatural being, and her laugh higher yet thicker with the sound of her human blood.
I wanted to go into her mind. I tried but cast away the idea at once. I was inhibited, just as I was with Riccardo and the boys closest to me. In fact, it seemed such a terrible invasion of the privacy of the person that I used this power only in hunting to find those who were evil and whom I might kill.
“Amadeo, you blush, what is it?” Bianca asked. “Your cheeks are scarlet. Let me kiss them. Oh, you are hot as if the fever has come back.”
“Look into his eyes, angel,” said Marius. “They are clear.”
“You’re right,” she said, peering into my eyes with such a sweet frank curiosity that she became irresistible to me.
I pushed back the yellow cloth of her underdress and the heavy velvet of her dark-green sleeveless overgarment and kissed her bare shoulder.
“Yes, you’re well,” she cooed into my ear, her lips moist against it.
I was blushing still as I drew back.
I looked at her, and I went into her mind; it seemed I had loosened the gold clasp beneath her breasts and parted her voluminous dark-green velvet skirts. I stared at the well between her half-exposed breasts. Blood or no blood, I could remember hot passion for her, and I felt it now in a strange overall manner, not localized in the forgotten organ as it had been before. I wanted to take her breasts in my hands and suckle them slowly, arousing her, making her moist and fragrant for me and making her head fall back. Yes, I blushed. A dim sweet swoon came over me.
I want you, I want you now, you and Marius both in my bed, together, a man and a boy, a god and a cherub. This is what her mind was saying to me, and she was remembering me. I saw myself as if in a smoky mirror, a boy naked except for a full-sleeved open shirt, seated on the pillows beside her, displaying the half-erect organ, ever ready to be completely aroused by her tender lips or her long graceful white hands.
I banished all this. I focused my gaze only on her beautiful tapering eyes. She studied me, not suspiciously but in fascination. Her lips were not rouged in any vulgar manner but deeply pink by nature, and her long lashes, darkened and curled only with a clear pomade, looked like the points of stars around her radiant eyes.
I want you, I want you now. These were her thoughts. They struck my ears. I bowed my head and put my hands up.
“Angel darling,” she said. “Both of you!” she whispered to Marius. She took my hands. “Come in with me.”
I was certain he would put a stop to it. He had cautioned me to avoid close scrutiny. But he only rose from his chair and moved towards her bedchamber, pushing back the two painted doors.
From the distant parlors came the steady sound of conversation and laughter. Singing had been added. Someone played the Virginal. All this went on.
We slipped into her bed. I was shaking all over. I saw that my Master had adorned himself in a thick tunic and beautiful dark blue doublet which I’d hardly noticed before. He wore soft sleek dark blue gloves over his hands, gloves which perfectly cleaved to his fingers, and his legs were covered by thick soft cashmere stockings all the way to his beautiful pointed shoes. He has covered all the hardness, I thought.
Having settled against the headboard of the bed, he had no compunction about helping Bianca to sit directly next to him. I looked across from him as I took my place beside her. As she turned to me, putting her hands on my face and kissing me eagerly again, I saw him perform a small act which I hadn’t seen before.
Lifting her hair, he appeared to kiss her on the back of the neck. This she neither felt nor acknowledged. When he drew back, however, his lips were bloody. And lifting the finger of his gloved hand, he smoothed this blood, her blood, but a few droplets of it from a shallow scratch, undoubtedly, all over his face. It appeared to me as a living sheen, and to her it would look very different.
It quickened the pores in his skin, which had become all but invisible, and it deepened a few lines around his eyes and his mouth which otherwise were lost. It gave him a more human look, overall, and served as a barrier to her gaze, which was now so close.
“I have my two, as I always dreamed,” she said softly.
Marius came round in front of her, tucking his arm behind her and began to kiss her as greedily as I had ever done. I was astonished for a moment, and jealous, but then her free hand found me and pulled me down close to her, and she turned from Marius, dazed with desire, and kissed me as well.
Marius reached over and brought me close to her, so that I was against her soft curves, feeling all the warmth rising from her voluptuous thighs.
He lay on top of her, but lightly, not letting his weight hurt her, and with his right hand he drew up her skirt and moved his fingers between her legs.
It was so bold. I lay against her shoulder, looking at the swell of her breasts, and beyond that the tiny, down-covered mound of her sex which he clasped in his entire hand.
She was past all decorum. He laid kisses on her neck and on her breasts as he embraced her lower down with his fingers, and she began to writhe with undisguised longing, her mouth open, her eyelids fluttering, her body suddenly moist all over and fragrant with this new heat.
That was the miracle, I realized, that a human could be brought to this higher temperature, and thereby give forth all of her sweet scents and even a strong invisible shimmer of emotions; it was rather like stoking a fire until it became a blaze.
The blood of my victims teemed in my face as I kissed her. It seemed to become living blood again, heated by my passion, and yet my passion had no demonic focus. I pressed my open mouth to the skin of her throat, covering the place where the artery showed like a blue river moving down from her head. But I didn’t want to hurt her. I felt no need to hurt her. Indeed, I felt only pleasure as I embraced her, as I slipped my arm between her and Marius, so that I could cradle her tightly as he continued to toy with her, his fingers lifting and falling on the tender little mound of her sex.
“You tease me, Marius,” she whispered, her head tossing. The pillow was damp beneath her and drenched with the perfume of her hair. I kissed her lips. They locked to my mouth. To keep her tongue from discovering my vampiric teeth, I drove my tongue into her. Her nether mouth couldn’t have been sweeter, tighter, more moist.
“Ah, then this, my sweet,” said Marius tenderly, his fingers sliding inside her.
She lifted her hips, as though the fingers were lifting her as she would have them do.
“Oh, Heaven help me,” she whispered, and then came the fullness of her passion, her face darkening with blood, and the rosy fire spreading down her breasts. I pushed back the cloth and saw the redness consume her bosom, her nipples standing rigid in tiny raisinlike points.
I closed my eyes and lay beside her. I let myself feel the passion rock her, and then the heat was lessened in her, and she seemed to become sleepy. She turned her head away. Her face was still. Her eyelids were beautifully molded over her closed eyes. She sighed and her pretty lips parted in a natural way.
Marius brushed her hair back from her face, smoothing the tiny unruly ringlets that were caught in the moisture, and then he kissed her forehead.
“Sleep now, knowing you’re safe,” he said to her. “I’ll take care of you forever. You saved Amadeo,” he whispered. “You kept him alive until I could come.”
Dreamily she turned to look up at him, her eyes glossy and slow.
“Am I not beautiful enough for you to love me for that alone?” she asked.
I realized suddenly that what she said was bitter, and that she was bestowing a confidence on him. I could feel her thoughts!
“I love you whether or not you dress in gold or wear pearls, whether or not you speak wittily and quickly, whether or not you make a well-lighted and elegant place in which I can rest, I love you for the heart here inside you, which came to Amadeo when you knew there was danger that those who knew or loved the Englishman might hurt you, I love you for courage and for what you know of being alone.”
Her eyes widened for a moment. “For what I know of being alone? Oh, I know very well what it means to be utterly alone.”
“Yes, brave one, and now you know I love you,” he whispered. “You always knew that Amadeo loved you.”
“Yes, I do love you,” I whispered, lying next to her, holding her.
“Well, now you know I love you as well.”
She studied him as best she could in her languor. “There are so many questions on the tip of my tongue,” she said.
“They don’t matter,” Marius said. He kissed her and I think he let his teeth touch her tongue. “I take all your questions and I cast them away. Sleep now, virginal heart,” he said. “Love whom you will, quite safe in the love we feel f
or you.”
It was the signal to withdraw.
As I stood at the foot of the bed, he placed the embroidered covers over her, careful to fold the fine Flemish linen sheet over the edge of the rougher white wool blanket, and then he kissed her again, but she was like a little girl, soft and safe, and fast asleep.
Outside, as we stood on the edge of the canal, he lifted his gloved hand to his nostrils, and he savored the fragrance of her on it.
“You’ve learnt much today, haven’t you? You cannot tell her anything of who you are. But do you see now how close you might come?”
“Yes,” I said. “But only if I want nothing in return.”
“Nothing?” he asked. He looked at me reprovingly. “She gave you loyalty, affection, intimacy; what more could you want in return?”
“Nothing now,” I said. “You’ve taught me well. But what I had before was her understanding, that she was a mirror in which I could study my reflection and thereby judge my own growth. She can’t be that mirror now, can she?”
“Yes, in many ways she can. Show her by gestures and simple words what you are. You needn’t tell her tales of blood drinkers that would only drive her mad. She can comfort you marvelously well without ever knowing what hurts you. And you, you must remember that to tell her everything would be to destroy her. Imagine it.”
I was silent for a long moment.
“Something’s occurred to you,” he said. “You have that solemn look. Speak.”
“Can she be made into what we—.”
“Amadeo, you bring me to another lesson. The answer is no.”
“But she’ll grow old and die, and—.”
“Of course she will, as she is meant to do. Amadeo, how many of us can there be? And on what grounds would we bring her over to us? And would we want her as our companion forever? Would we want her as our pupil? Would we want to hear her cries if the magic blood were to drive her mad? It is not for any soul, this blood, Amadeo. It demands a great strength and a great preparation, all of which I found in you. But I do not see it in her.”