by Aiden James
I glanced around the room looking for familiar items from the past few days to distract myself. Somehow, another complete change of clothes had been laid out across a chair just inside the door to my cabin. Unlike the other night, when elegance was the choice made for me, this time my outfit consisted of brand new jeans and a dark blue sweatshirt, not unlike the ones in my wardrobe back on campus that bore the UT insignia.
I showered and took a little longer getting ready than yesterday, hoping that Racco’s offer to join me for some afternoon fun was still a possibility. I needed an effective distraction to get past the emotional war going on within me. If Peter was here, I’d have insisted on time alone with him. But, he wasn’t. It could be a long time—if ever—before we saw each other again, despite Chanson’s assurances.
That was my rationale right then. However, a ship not moving didn’t necessarily mean we had a skipper with idle time on his hands—certainly not the kind of idle hand time I was hoping for. In all likelihood, plans were already being finalized for our move to dry land, with a caravan up into the Southern Pyrenees the top priority of the ship’s crew.
A knock resounded at my door soon after I finished blow-drying my hair.
“Who is it?”
“Mademoiselle Ybarra?”
It sounded like Racco’s assistant, Mercel.
“I’ll be right there!” I rushed to finish my makeup and grab my shoes and, unlike last night, a jacket. “Coming!”
“It’s all right, ma chére,” the owner of the voice replied. Apparently, there were people on the yacht who did speak and understand more English than I gave them credit for. “Racco would like you to join him upstairs for lunch.”
When I opened the door, I did find Mercel waiting for me. I wanted to ask him why he hadn’t previously addressed me in English. It irritated me how he acted clueless when I spoke English before. But, that question would have to wait. He walked ahead of me, briskly, leading me to the stairs I was well familiar with by then.
“We will unload the ship within the hour,” he called back to me.
By the time I caught up to him upstairs, he and the rest of the crew were gathered at a table near the window facing the scenic view I had glimpsed from my cabin window. Mercel introduced me to the others—all of whom spoke perfect English—that included two males I had not seen until then. Hearing them all speak so casually and in my native tongue was quite unsettling, and made me wonder again why in the hell they had gone through such a charade of acting like they only understood French the past two days. I was about to upbraid everyone for the bullshit at my expense, when I heard Racco’s booming voice enter the room from behind us.
“Txema! You are such a vision in even the most mundane attire, are you not?”
He laughed merrily, and just like that, my anger melted away. Well, maybe it didn’t completely. He was dressed similar to the others and me, in a sweatshirt and jeans. But, unlike the oversized shirts the rest of us had on, his was form-fitting. Hard to know if it was on purpose or not, but the effect was the same. I couldn’t help but smile lovingly.
“You’re pretty easy on the eyes, too, I’d say,” I told him, feeling my pulse quicken.
My comment pleased him, although he seemed a little self-conscious for a moment. He grabbed a ham sandwich from the table, foregoing the finer finger foods and the caviar he seemed to cherish on Sunday.
“We will be leaving in about twenty minutes,” he said, and then motioned for the two males I hadn’t recognized before that afternoon to follow him as he moved toward the stairs leading to the flybridge above us. “Raul and Simon will take the ship into port while the rest of us finish packing up everything we’ll need at the castle.”
Everyone else grabbed what they could carry in their hands to eat, and despite my desire for the more delectable items, I settled for a couple of finger sandwiches and a raspberry wine cooler. I then followed Mercel and the girl servers as they moved downstairs.
“Is this how you normally do lunch, to be in such a rush?” I asked Mercel once we neared my cabin. “I thought the French always take their time when dining, with the idea of savoring a meal instead of wolfing it down like an American.”
At least he caught my joke; he laughed immediately. After he explained it to the girls—in English, no less—they laughed too.
“We are not usually like this, and Racco had planned for a leisurely afternoon out here in this beautiful bay. However, a phone call this morning changed those plans,” he said, motioning for the girls to follow him to the room where the caskets were stored. “He wanted you to sleep undisturbed, but now we are in a rush, since it will still take a few hours to arrive at the chateau. Racco said we must be there before darkness returns. So, be sure to take only things you cannot live without.”
Mercel’s beautiful blue eyes turned slightly darker, adding emphasis to his update.
“Okay,” I agreed, shrugging and heading into my room. “Do I need to grab anything from the bathroom, like the shampoo, facial scrub, and soap?”
“Only the makeup, since there is plenty of soap and shampoo at the chateau,” he advised. “Not that you need makeup, but a woman likes to always look her very best, yes?”
“I guess,” I replied, shooting him a smile. I appreciated his compliment. “I’ll see you in a minute.”
Apparently the caskets were already set up on rollers. I hadn’t noticed that fact the previous afternoon. Then again, it was hard to notice much else when the sexiest ‘old’ man the world has ever known stood just inches behind me.
With fifteen minutes of hustle and bustle, Racco’s crew gathered everything we needed for our trip into the mountains. The caskets were all lined up in the hallway outside my cabin, while the mere mortals and their immortal human captain reconvened upstairs. Even the table laden with food had already been cleared and cleaned. I admit that I entertained an image of Racco’s servants shoving everything inside the kitchen during the rush.
“Once we reach the dock, we will need to stay organized,” Racco told his staff and me, while the ship coasted to the shoreline. “The trucks will be there, and each of you will stay with our friends during their rest. It remains imperative that they are not disturbed during transport. Any questions?”
The others all shook their heads ‘no,’ to which he smiled and nodded approvingly.
“Where will I ride—do you need me to watch over a casket, too?” I asked this more out of politeness, since it wasn’t something I had any desire for.
“No, Txema,” he said, turning to face me as I stepped up to him. His eyes seemed more penetrating than before, his interest keen. Or, was it lust? “You and I will ride in a limousine, and the others will follow.”
“Sounds good,” I said. No qualms there. Ancient or not, the close traveling proximity of a beautiful man would never be declined by yours truly.
In a matter of twenty minutes, everything was loaded up inside a pair of semi-trucks, and Racco and I sat in the back of the lead vehicle, a stretch Mercedes. The temperature hovered in the low sixties, or between twenty-seven and twenty-nine degrees Celsius, according to Racco. It was certainly a refreshing change from the sub-freezing temperatures I recently endured in Knoxville and the mid-Atlantic.
By 1:30 p.m. local time, we made it past the heaviest congestion in Perpignan, where the city streets were much older than any I’d ever seen before. Many of the buildings dated from the fourteenth century, and some were even older. Racco served as my tour guide in our relative privacy, where the driver only glanced occasionally at us—mostly on account of my companion’s boisterous laughter.
Once we left the city limits of Perpignan, we traveled through several more towns while navigating through the Pyrenees’ foothills. I was surprised by the stronger prevalence of Spanish architecture as compared to French, although Racco explained how for centuries, the borders between Spain and France were not clearly defined as they are now. Instead, ancient kingdoms in either country warred against one
another, and subsequent victories or losses defined the ‘turf-layouts’ throughout the Pyrenees.
“We will be veering onto a seldom used highway that will take us up to the castle,” he said, just before three o’clock. “It shouldn’t take much longer to get there, and it does appear that we will meet Gustav’s mandate to be there before the onset of dusk.”
Just ahead of us on the right side of the road stood an iron gate within a marble wall that seemed to stretch well into the surrounding forest on either side. The wall’s visible gray blocks were tightly fitted, and streams of rust covered each one. Very old. The limo pulled up to the gate, and once the driver called in a code to his dispatcher, the gate opened. All three vehicles moved through the entrance and onto a gravel road. For a moment, I worried about the steady speed that didn’t change when the incline suddenly rose steeply. A cloud of dust obscured my view of the trucks behind us.
“Do not be alarmed, ma chéri,” said Racco, his husky voice making me want to curl up next to his shoulder. The driver’s eyes were drawn to us from within the rearview mirror. “Within thirty minutes we shall reach my home. You are now moving through an area of the Pyrenees rarely seen by mortals—other than those in my employment, of course.”
He flashed a mischievous smile, and then motioned to the stunning view outside the limousine on either side. I had never seen anything quite this pristine before—not even the breathtaking mountain views in Gatlinburg, Tennessee or the glistening snowcapped peaks in Vail, Colorado that I witnessed at Christmas three years ago. Granted, these hills could never compete with America’s Rocky Mountains. But, it was obvious that nothing had ever been disturbed in this wilderness by mankind, other than the road we traveled on.
As the incline increased, so did the drop off on either side. I tried to focus on the view stretching for miles around us, especially the bluish peaks in the distance that were covered with a blanket of snow in the highest elevations. Still, it was nearly impossible not to look down occasionally. Several hundred feet soon became more than a thousand. Despite being a roller-coaster junkie, I started to feel sick.
“Do you honestly think the lords who rule the vampire world would allow something bad to happen to you?” Racco laughed again, after watching me flinch. It was hard not to feel sheepish for being so fearful. “If only you knew the scope of sacrifice these creatures will make to ensure their way of life continues unhindered. You are their golden egg, Txema, and as their most trusted confidant in the daylight hours, neither I nor those who serve me will let any harm come to you!”
“So what’s it like never to grow old?”
I needed something to move off the subject of ‘me’. Besides, the existence of an immortal living human, as opposed to an undead one, seemed incredibly interesting.
“I heard them tell you the other night how lonely it can be,” he said, the mirthful expression fading into one of grave seriousness. “Truthfully, it is that. It is that and often a burden—one where I have sometimes asked myself if it is wiser to move to the other side and be reunited with loved ones gone for centuries. Or, does it merit one to live as long as one can and experience brand new delights the world has yet to offer? After all, if life is eternal in some form or another, then I can always reunite with those dearest to me at any time. So why rush?”
And just like that, the impishness was back in his countenance.
I nodded thoughtfully in response. When an awkward silence followed, I turned my attention to the incredible view again, thinking of eternity without my loved ones while gazing down into the deepening chasm below us.
Thankfully, the road’s grade eventually evened out, and we moved through a forest thick with tall evergreens. This lasted for a few miles, until suddenly a massive stone turret appeared along the tree line.
“Oh my God,” I whispered, once the immense granite structure came into view.
It was enormous, with several spires within the middle of the structure jutting toward the sky. Much of the castle looked as if it had been built around the time of the French Revolution, resembling the classic chateau style I had seen recreated in so many pieces of art from that period in Art History class. The spires and turrets looked much older, although they had been integrated into the overall design masterfully. An array of dormant gardens surrounded the castle, and it came complete with a moat and drawbridge, although at present the moat was dry.
A beautiful site, yet at the same time foreboding.
“The castle was originally given to me as a gift after it was abandoned during the Moorish occupation in the beginning of the eighth century A.D.,” said Racco, after we crossed the drawbridge, obviously noting my fascination with his fabulous home. “It underwent several updates to its design, with the major restorations taking place in 1792 and 1946, both times from damage sustained from war. If the Nazis had won the most recent conflict, Hitler’s obnoxious red and black banners might be hanging from the walls instead of the fleur de lis you see before you.”
White and purple banners with gold fringe and tassels hung along both sides to the main entrance, with the most famed symbol of France aside from the Eiffel Tower prominently displayed in the middle of each. As we pulled up to the entrance, a dozen servants from inside the castle came outside to greet us, with most of them moving to the two trucks. It surprised me how quickly we were ushered inside the building, as if we too were vampires who might explode into flames from the fading sunlight.
Once inside, this Secret Service-like urgency lessened, although I watched a few of Racco’s assistants stay near the windows where they cautiously surveyed the front grounds to this estate. It was like they were expecting someone to follow us, and I noticed that two of them carried pistols.
I was about to ask if the security extremes were really necessary in such a remote locale, but then I looked around and got distracted. The majesty of the castle’s exterior was more than matched by the opulence inside. At the moment, we stood within a grand corridor that seemed to stretch for much of the castle’s length. The end was too far from where we stood to make out. Two marble staircases veered upward on either side of the corridor, and amazing frescos covered much of the walls and the entire ceiling. I could tell by the artistry that a master of some sort—or masters, given the castle’s age—had created them. Such detail I could easily discern, and the ceiling rose at least fifty feet above us. All of this artwork was framed within solid oak beams bearing carved images and gold inlays.
A colorful carpet runner featuring the same fleur de lis symbolism covered the marble floor. Even the furnishings were luxurious, although seemingly out of date. It appeared most of the couches and chairs in the sitting areas alongside the corridor hadn’t been updated since the 1946 date mentioned by Racco. Large LCD screens in two of these areas pointed to a step into the twenty-first century.
“It will take a week or two for you to become familiar with these new surroundings,” Racco said, placing his arm around my waist as he escorted me toward the staircase to our left. “Some of the staff still get lost from time to time.”
He chuckled. As he leaned closer to me, the rich aroma of his expensive cologne embraced my nose. I was already intoxicated by the scent and thought earlier it would smell great on most men, but his unusual body chemistry heightened the experience. I could have eaten him alive.
“In a moment, Julianne will show you to your room upstairs,” he continued, grinning as if he could read my most recent lustful notion. Holding me in his gaze, he motioned to a pretty brunette waiting for me on the landing above the stairs. Thirty-ish, she seemed more in line with what Racco’s apparent physical age would merit, and I felt a pang of jealousy.
Racco squeezed my waist. “In a few minutes it will be four o’clock. We will reconvene in the dining room at six. Julianne will escort you there, and your clothing for the evening has already been arranged. It awaits you in your room. Tonight’s celebration should be quite an event. Gustav has told me personally how he can hardly wai
t to meet you!”
Before I could respond, he kissed my forehead and left me at the foot of the stairs. I lingered long enough to watch him disappear from view as he returned to the main path of the corridor. By then, Julianne had come downstairs to meet me.
“Je vous accompagne, s’il vous plait.”
“Sure.”
One of the few French phrases I understood. I ignored her smirk and gave Julianne my arm, as she requested. She then led me upstairs to my room. Along the way, I wondered if she spoke English like the others under Racco’s employment, but I decided not to ask. Officially at my hosts’ mercy and stranded in a remote castle far away from everyone I’ve ever cared about, it didn’t seem like a good idea to pry into the motivation behind speaking only French in my presence. Perhaps it was a tactic of isolation, designed to make me more dependent upon my immortal hosts. I felt a sudden loneliness and a desperate ache to reconnect with those who truly loved me.
y bedchamber in the castle would be considered a coliseum in comparison to my accommodations at Massey Hall. I had a huge king-size bed, full media center, armoire full of designer fashions, and a real Jacuzzi tub and waterfall shower in the bathroom. Not to mention the bedroom portion of my suite was large enough to create an echo with my voice. I know, because I tried it.
I thought having a couple of hours to relax and get used to my new surroundings would mean plenty of time. But the media center proved far too distracting to play with for just an hour. The next thing I knew, I had roughly twenty minutes to get ready for the night’s dinner party.
I was still putting on the last touches of my makeup when Julianne arrived to escort me back to the main level. She had changed into a beautiful lavender sequined evening gown that accentuated her modest curves. Relieved to see her dressed like this, it made me feel less self-conscious in the burgundy Versace gown of similar style and fit that Racco’s people had left on my bed for me, along with a matching pair of Manolo Blahniks for my feet. I think Peter would have enjoyed seeing me dressed in the kind of formal wear that I stubbornly refused to let him buy for me. I felt a moment of guilt in that thought but refused to dwell upon it.