Sacred Circle

by Claire Thompson

  Grace felt a sudden chill. “What?” she murmured faintly.

  “Grace, I know most of us are just players, including myself. We’re not real vampires. We play the games and follow the made-up rules of our made-up covens because it gives us a sense of identity. For many, probably for most, it’s something campy and pseudo-dangerous to do. But for others of us, for me, it’s much more than that.”

  She paused and then said, “Can I see you? Is Julian with you? We need to talk.”

  Grace looked up and saw Julian standing at the sliding terrace door. “It’s Margo,” she whispered, covering the cell phone for a moment with her hand.

  “I know,” Julian said. “Tell her she can come. I was wondering when she’d call.”

  * * * * *

  Margo sat on a large chair facing the couple. She was sipping the remarkably fine champagne Julian had graciously offered her. He and Grace looked so young and vulnerable sitting together, their eyes shining when they glanced at each other, their fingers intertwined. Yet Margo knew they were anything but vulnerable. She had sensed it in Grace and was certain with Julian.

  They weren’t the first vampires she had come across, but they were the first ones who would speak to her. She was certain that she had stumbled upon a vampire when she was on holiday in Ireland. She was a bit drunk, having just left a pub where she and several friends had shared one too many pints.

  She was alone, on the short walk back to her little hotel when she happened to glance over at a nearby small farm. It was a moonless night but the stars were brilliant overhead. She saw two shadowy figures huddled together on the ground. At first, she thought someone was hurt and she had hurried over to offer help, though in her inebriated state she probably wouldn’t have been much help at all. When she approached, she got the most peculiar feeling, the hairs on the back of her neck standing up as she peered into the starry darkness.

  Standing at some distance, she watched the pair for a while, observing what looked like an old man cradled in the arms of a younger, larger man. After several moments, the younger man lifted his head and Margo unmistakably saw distended canines gleaming with red, shining in the silvery starlight. The man’s face was pale, unnaturally so, she recalled.

  Their eyes met for a moment, and then with a rustle and shimmer, the man seemed to melt away into the shadows. The old fellow slumped where he lay but otherwise was still. Margo had rushed over, now feeling completely sober. Gently she had prodded the man, but he remained unconscious. It was then she noticed the two little marks at his neck, from which a trace of blood shone darkly. After some moments, the man came to, confused and disoriented, but convinced he’d merely had “a slight spell”.

  She’d spent the rest of her two-week vacation seeking the mysterious stranger, convinced she’d seen the real thing at last. He had apparently disappeared without a trace. The old farmer remembered none of it. When she tried to tell him later what she had seen he had scoffed, muttering something about crazy Americans. When she tried to show him the little wounds at his throat, they were gone.

  Margo, like Grace, had possessed a lifetime fascination with all things vampire. Though unlike Grace, Margo was thoroughly human. She owned all the vampire literary classics and knew whole sections by heart. She had also made a more serious study of the folklore and history, and unlike Grace, she had been convinced for a long time that vampires did in fact exist. Her sighting in Ireland merely confirmed long-held beliefs.

  Her own obsession with blood was merely an extension of her fascination with the night stalkers. Though she pretended with the Red Covenant crowd and other role players to be a “sanguine vampire”, she well knew it was just a game. It suited her sense of the dramatic and her dominant personality.

  When Grace had come to their party that fateful Saturday, Margo had been struck by her pale skin and lithe grace. She had suspected something was odd about the girl, but she was made certain when Grace bent to suck Rhonda’s little wound. She saw the glitter of lust in the young girl’s eyes but more importantly, she saw the canines distend just as Grace’s lips closed over Rhonda’s thin arm.

  At first, Margo thought she must have imagined it. But as she watched, fascinated, Grace’s eager suckling confirmed her vague but growing suspicions as to what Grace must be. Yet, her careful probing of the girl led her to believe Grace herself didn’t yet know or was denying her true nature for some reason. Margo sensed Grace’s skittishness and moved with caution, not wanting to scare her away. She encouraged Grace to open up about her experience without trying to influence her.

  When the group went to Jason’s and Margo saw Julian Gaston for the first time, she was instantly struck by the pale, luminous beauty of his face. His sleek strength hidden beneath fine clothes attracted her but there was something else about him. Something indefinable which brought the image of Grace to her mind, and the memory of the dark stalker that night in Ireland.

  She was surprised but delighted when Julian and Robert had struck up a conversation. As if following a script she would have written if she could, Robert gave the man his card and they seemed to be agreeing to meet at a later date to discuss Robert’s prized little necklace.

  That evening at the party, she had sensed the immediate and intense connection between Julian and Grace. Indeed, everyone noticed it, but the others just assumed it was some kind of “love at first sight”. That it may have been, but Margo was reasonably certain that there was more, much more, between them.

  Always blunt, she came right out with it. “I know what you are. I said as much to Grace. I know you’re vampires. Before you protest, I want to say, I’m truly honored just to be in your presence.”

  “I appreciate your directness,” Julian said, smiling a little. His eyes were dark, their expression guarded. “But aren’t you afraid? If you’re correct, aren’t you concerned for your safety, your very life?”

  “You mean you’re going to suck my blood and leave me for dead? Or turn me into a slave zombie like in the old movies? No, I’m not afraid. I’ve researched vampires all my life. But beyond that, I have a sense about people. A sort of intuitive understanding of their natures. I am rarely wrong. And I sense in you, in both of you, a goodness. You wouldn’t harm me.”

  “Not intentionally perhaps, but you are in fact in danger, Madam. Grave danger.” Julian’s tone was steely and Margo stiffened. Even Grace sat up straighter, glancing sharply at her lover. Would he harm Margo?

  “If you’ve truly done your research, you know that vampires greatly prefer that their true identities remain a secret. We have been reviled and feared for centuries, often for good reason. I could kill you with one kiss, my dear. Surely you know that?”

  “Yes,” Margo whispered, her eyes wide. She was gripping the arms of her chair tightly, her knuckles showing white. He had just admitted what she already knew.

  I trust you. She sent the message out wildly—testing the theories she had read in some of the literature that vampires were telepathic. I put myself at your mercy, both of you. I want what you have. I’ve waited my entire life for this moment. If you are planning to kill me, do it now. If I am to die, let it be this way.

  “Margo!” Grace spoke aloud. “You don’t know what you’re saying.” Margo smiled, and drew in a shaky breath. They had read her thoughts! She had risked everything in coming here but she couldn’t have done anything else. Two vampires together! Margo had already begun to befriend Grace, and had felt confident that Grace would not harm her. Julian had been the unknown quantity and he had frightened her with his words, but still she felt in her bones that she was safe. She knew it was rare that a vampire would feed on someone known to them. The risk was too great—they would have to be prepared to kill.

  Julian looked keenly at the woman sitting across from them. She had lovely features, with large brown eyes whose beauty wasn’t lessened by the subtle mapping of tiny wrinkles at the corners. Her skin was olive-toned and still smooth though her jaw was less firm than when she was a
girl, the skin sagging slightly. Her dark hair was streaked with silver and pulled back in a thick French twist at her neck. Her neck and throat were still supple, though Julian guessed she must be in her fifties. Her figure was generous, with ample bosom and broad hips, but she was by no means fat. Clothed in a coffee-colored silk pantsuit, she looked elegant but relaxed. Altogether, she was a very attractive woman.

  “What exactly is it you want, Margo?” Julian spoke softly. “Why are you placing your life in our hands?”

  “Read my thoughts, Monsieur Gaston. You will see that my heart is honest and my intentions pure. I’ve spent my life pursuing knowledge and hoping for glimpses of your kind. I did see another, years ago, but he vanished into the night. I sensed something in Grace, but was confused by her obvious lack of self-awareness. But I think I understand. I think she is what I’ve heard referred to as a ‘latent’ vampire. She was unaware of her own nature.”

  “You are learned,” Julian admitted. “And yes, Grace was indeed latent, having never been trained or made aware of her own powers and needs. She is aware now, well aware.” Grace nodded, smiling slightly at her lover before looking back at Margo.

  “And I see in your heart and mind that you want something of us. Something we are not prepared or permitted to give.”

  “To be turned,” Grace whispered, suddenly understanding. Her powers of telepathic perception were not yet nearly as developed as Julian’s.

  “Yes!” Margo interjected. “To be turned! I know the term. I’ve read enough stories and fables that I am convinced there is truth in this. You can take a human and give them the blood, and create a vampire! You can give me the bloodlust. You can give me the gift of eternal life!”

  “No!” Julian shouted. “No, that is something we cannot do! And you don’t know what you ask. To walk the world for decades, for centuries, almost always alone, hiding, attacking and sometimes killing humans to get what you need. Driven by your thirst for the red elixir, but alone, so often alone. It’s not something to ask for. It’s not something to seek. A vampire’s life is not eternal, but it can feel so. Without love it is endless and the life of the damned.”

  Grace’s hand slipped over Julian’s, her eyes soft and filled with tears.

  “God, I’m such an idiot,” Margo said, “Please forgive me. My whole life I’ve always spoken before thinking and said just what’s on my mind. It’s gotten me in trouble over the years, but just as often it’s gotten me what I want. And I don’t ask lightly, Julian. I’ve dreamed of this moment for thirty years. Please don’t deny me.”

  “Margo, even if so inclined, we cannot ‘turn’ you. It’s not permitted. Permission has to be granted by the Elders of my circle and even then, the reason must be compelling. Turning isn’t easy. It takes skill and strength, and great fortitude on the part of the human.” He stopped, as if lost for a moment in a dream. Speaking in almost a whisper, he said, “I myself almost died in the process.”

  Margo nodded soberly, seeming for the moment to abandon her plea. Instead, she said, “Tell us, please. I’m longing to hear directly from the source. I’ve spent my life collecting vampire tales, what I could find of them, and trying to sort the fancy from the fact. Your stories are like lifeblood to me. If you’ll permit me just to sit and listen to your story, I can think of no place I’d rather be.” Her tone was respectful but eager.

  Julian had already shared the tale of his turning with Grace, who said, “What harm could there be, Julian? She already knows what we are, and I sense that we can trust her. Don’t you?”

  Julian paused, looking keenly at Margo. Slowly he stood, advancing toward her. She looked up at him but didn’t move. Julian touched her chin, forcing her to raise her face to him. Slowly his fingers slid down her neck, eliciting a little shiver from her though she didn’t try to look away. A vampire’s gaze can intimidate even the boldest human and Julian seemed impressed. His dark eyes bore into hers as he probed her thoughts and feelings.

  At last, he sat back down. Taking a champagne bottle from its ice bucket, he refreshed their glasses before saying, “I suppose we can trust her, yes.” Margo, who hadn’t realized she’d been holding her breath, let it out with a gush. Julian continued, “We can share our stories with you, Margo, with the understanding that what we share stays with you. If you have the knowledge and love of vampires that you claim, then you appreciate the importance of keeping our identities and actions secret. Though you may not be afraid, I wasn’t kidding when I said you should be.

  “We kill people, Margo. Not that we choose to, but we feed on humans. A miscalculation or a moment of greed is all it takes to snuff out a human life. I don’t think you understand the import of that. We are killers, by our very nature and you, Margo, are our prey.”

  Margo swallowed and nodded. If only he knew how much she desired his sharp kiss, how she longed to feel the prick of a vampire’s fangs. She touched her throat but said only, “I understand, Julian. And if this is my night to die, I’m ready. Now please, let’s lighten the tone a bit!” She took a long drink of her fine champagne, savoring its crisp, bubbly elegance against her tongue.

  Laughing lightly she said, “It’s funny, though I know you must be far older than I in actual years, I feel more like your mother than your prey. There is time to discuss those weighty topics I foolishly leaped into. For now, I would be delighted with a few tales from your rich and varied past. You could start with your turning, eh, cher?”

  She smiled winningly at them both, aware that her smile was one of her best features, with her square white teeth and charming dimples in either cheek. Grace said, “I’d like to hear it again, Julian. I wasn’t exactly focused when you first told me.” She flushed slightly as she admitted this and Margo smiled, aware that they were lovers.

  So, Julian did share his tale, describing something of his life in the French countryside in the early 1700s. He spoke of how he came to meet Adrienne, and the magic she worked on him, though at such a cost. “I was in a delirium for three days, so they tell me. When I awoke the first thought on my mind was of her and the first words from my lips were her name, over and over, Adrienne…” Julian’s voice faded away as he seemed lost in a time long ago. His eyes were sad as he stared, unseeing, into the fading night sky beyond the terrace doors.

  Grace, who had remained quiet, seemingly as riveted as Margo by the vampire’s narrative, shifted a little now and looked away. Margo saw the emotions fleeting over her face and recognized that most useless and dangerous of emotions—jealousy.

  Well, who wouldn’t be jealous of such a rival lover as this rich and elegant Adrienne, immortal and devastatingly sexy, to hear Julian tell it. Margo smiled a little, thinking how typical a man he was, even if he did have three hundred years of experience. Clearly, he still clung to his romantic notion of this woman, this vampire who in a fit of lustful passion had almost killed him, had “turned” him without warning or consideration and then, after a one-night stand, had simply vanished off the face of the earth.

  Watching Julian, these thoughts raced through Margo’s mind and she reached over to touch Grace’s hand. Julian had obviously obsessed over his story for centuries, no doubt enhancing Adrienne’s beauty and passion as the lonely decades passed. Margo bit her tongue to keep from voicing her opinion that this French countess probably couldn’t hold a flame to Grace. Instead she said, “Why, look at the way the sun is setting on Grace’s hair. It looks positively golden, as if it were liquid fire.”

  “Oh,” Grace said, a hand rising to touch her soft lustrous hair. The sun was indeed at just such an angle that it caught the golds and reds that streaked through Grace’s hair. It had the desired effect of making Julian turn from his inward thoughts to focus on his very real and alive lover sitting now before him. He smiled at her, his eyes losing the dark brooding cast they’d held a moment before.

  “I’ll bet this human is hungry,” he said, his voice light now. “Maybe we should go get something to eat. I’m rather partial to coco
nut shrimp.”

  “Oh, and I love fried bananas!” Margo’s voice took on a rapturous tone. She could almost taste the fried bananas, swimming in melted butter and brown sugar with rum, ladled over a large scoop of French vanilla ice cream. She laughed as the two vampires stared at her and admitted, “I come by this figure honestly, my friends. I love to eat! Especially dessert.” They all laughed—standing and smoothing their clothing, the somber mood broken.

  Margo began to spend time with the young couple, stopping by their hotel suite after work and enjoying hours of talk and reflection. Julian did most of the talking, which suited both women. Night after night, they asked endless questions, not only about his experiences as a vampire, but about history itself.

  “This is incredible,” Margo said, her eyes shining. “Imagine the amazing book we could write! Volumes of books! You’re a walking historical gold mine. You were there! During the decline of the Ottoman Empire! The French Revolution! The forming of the United States! The Civil War. The Industrial Revolution. World War One and Two. You’ve been there, the silent observer of it all. Your perspective is perhaps dark, forced as you’ve been by your nature and your appetites to live on the edge of things. But that could be a good thing! Your observations would be unique. I could help you! Why, that’s what I do. I’m an editor. I edit romances, but that doesn’t mean I don’t know my history. I just know we could get you published. No question about it. We would turn the world on its ear!”

  “That’s enough,” Julian’s tone was sharp, and Margo’s mouth snapped shut, the color draining suddenly from her face. He spoke quietly but underneath was steel. “It was understood, was it not, that these stories and memories were to go no further than this room? Has our trust in you been misplaced, Margo? Have you steered us into a corner, the only way out of which is to kill you?”

  Margo gasped as Julian continued, “I don’t like to kill, Margo. But I won’t hesitate, not now that we are no longer discussing only my safety but the safety of my lover, of the woman I’ve been waiting ten lifetimes to find. You are threatening me, us, with your remarks, whether or not they are in jest.”