Pierre was about to knock when he had a flash of memory of the last time he had come into this room, bound up by whipster, the cords holding him, tightening when he tried to move, relaxing when he did. He remembered how it had coiled itself up as though following orders. The coolest thing ever, he thought to himself.
Pierre knocked gently. He could hear movement inside, the thudding of Maloney most likely as he plodded towards the door. Pierre took a deep breath, trying to hold on to his confidence.
“Wondered what had happened to you,” sneered Dominic. He was reaching for a tone of domination in his voice, but what came out was greed, and anxiety. “We were about to pay you a visit in that ridiculous hayloft you call home.” Dominic’s eyes had immediately gone to the briefcase and they had not wavered from it.
Apparently the housekeeper had not been allowed in the room. There were dirty clothes draped over chairs, empty bags of blood littering the floor, and a heap of candy wrappers spilling out from under one bed. The smell was distinctly more pungent than it had been in the corridor.
“I’ve got what you want,” said Pierre. “Two products. Going to be massive sellers. If you move quickly enough, you could even beat la Motte to the market.”
Dominic’s self control left him completely and he grinned. “Let’s see what you’ve got,” he said, his voice trembling just a little.
Maloney lumbered over and grabbed at the briefcase but Pierre was too quick for him.
“A few things left to discuss,” said Pierre. “Number one, that labri you promised me. I want her now. Number two, I think we can agree that mutual trade is good for us both. Good for our countries, our vampire brethren –”
“Shut up, Pierre. What else do you want?”
“Details on that whipster. How to make it, etc. and etc.”
Dominic sucked in his cheeks and said, “Hmm.”
“Whipster rules,” said Maloney.
“Shut up, Maloney,” said Dominic. “I’m not even sure how I would get that information,” he said to Pierre, lying his ass off.
“Sure, right,” said Pierre sarcastically. “I’ll just let you know then, that the documents in this case are only half of what you need. You’ll see when you have your scientists evaluate it, that it’s legit. But you won’t be able to move forward without the rest. And you’re not getting the rest until I get the goods on whipster.”
The idea for extortion had only occurred to him as he entered the hotel room. Acting quickly on his feet made Pierre both nervous and exhilarated. He had a flicker of imagining how pleased Henri would be with him, saw him rubbing his hands together and then clapping him on the back as though they were equals, for a moment at least.
Dominic was scowling. Maloney saw Dominic’s unhappy face and lumbered over and put Pierre in a chokehold. Pierre beat Maloney’s leg with the briefcase and with his other hand struggled to find some part of Maloney to hurt, gasping for breath, but Dominic waved Maloney off.
“Let him go, it’s all right,” he said. “I figure the boss probably expected he’d have to give something up, after all,” he said, thinking out loud. “All right, let’s do it like this,” he said. "Give me what you have. I will get it to my boss, and put your proposal in front of him, and then we’ll see where we stand.
“How did you get the papers, anyway? Your last try was so pathetic, I admit, I was worried you’d show up with another steaming pile of crap.”
Like any good liar, Pierre decided that the fewer details, the better. “You convinced me it was in my interest,” he said, smirking. “Now what about that labri?” he asked, hoping he wasn’t compromising his position by seeming too eager.
“At the end of the deal,” said Dominic, holding his hands out for the briefcase, and Pierre reluctantly handed it over.
31
When Jo got back to her room, she locked the door and took another bath, wanting to get the smell of Pierre off her. But this time, thank heavens, the water felt relaxing, and purifying, and rejuvenating, and by the time she got out of her bath she was feeling absolutely tip-top. She didn’t even feel grossed out by what she had done to escape Pierre. Girl’s gotta do what a girl’s gotta do, she thought, looking forward to the next day’s ride. And actually, now that she had seen Pierre’s fangs, she was no longer all tangled up about whether the vampire rumors were true or not, so there was that.
Sometimes, even when the truth is bad, it’s comforting to no longer be in doubt.
Also, she had been expecting the usual array of break-up feelings to swamp her, but so far, nothing. No yearning to have David’s attention one last time, one last kiss, one last anything. No desire to see if there was anything she could do that would make him…different. Yes, the sex had been incredible at the time, but she didn’t miss it even a little.
She toweled off and walked naked into her bedroom, looking forward to the dinner Albert was bringing, and to getting into bed alone. She put on a robe and called Marianne.
“I don’t even know where to begin,” she said, after they had gone through their greetings.
“Doesn’t matter,” said Marianne. “Begin at the end if you want to.”
“The end is–David and I–that’s over.”
“How are you doing?”
“Fine, really. And what I’m going to tell you, it’s not even the reason–it’s–all right, I’m just going to say it. You know all that talk of vampires that bubbles up every once in a while? Or maybe I should say, fails to bubble up, but instead is whispered about, then forgotten?
“Yes, I know what you mean.”
“Well, it turns out…that it’s not just gossip, not a fairy tale either. I know because…David…is a vampire. For real.”
Silence on Marianne’s end. Jo didn’t remember that ever happening before.
“And you know this because…?” Marianne said finally.
“He bit me.”
“Bit you?”
“Bit me. We were in bed. Things had been…complicated. Not going all that well, really. But the sex was mostly amazing. It was hard to think clearly with the sex being so…I just got lost in it, Marianne.”
“Uh-hmm, I know how that is,” she said, although she didn’t exactly, not really.
“Night before last, he showed up, we messed around, and then without a word, he latched on to my neck. Marianne, he was sucking my blood.”
They stayed on the line, not saying anything. Jo marveled at how it sounded when she said it out loud–crazy! And yet, the truth.
“And the really weird thing?” she continued, "it was unbelievable when he was biting and sucking. It was absolutely euphoric. Sexually. But not only sexually.
“I never did drugs, you remember, but I’d guess this must be what it’s like. It’s not easy to describe, but it’s something like…you have a moment, a brief moment, when you feel better than you have ever felt in your whole entire life, better than you had any idea it was even possible to feel. Does that make any sense at all?”
“I don’t know about sense. But it does sound hard to resist.” Marianne got up and started pacing, and twirling her hair around a finger, a habit left over from grade school that only surfaced at times of high anxiety. “And so…what does this mean?” she asked, now deeply worried about her friend.
“So, yeah, at first, for a few moments, incredibly great, utter bliss. I didn’t even realize what he was doing until he had stopped, and I saw his face. With the fangs and all. My blood on his mouth, and a little dripping down his chin.” She shuddered. "And then…whomp! I felt like total crap. I know I keep saying it’s impossible to describe, but honestly, both the blissful part and the crap part later–I’ve never felt anything like either one.
“So before you start making calls and having me tied up and brought back to New Jersey–it’s over, Marianne. I’m not going to be involved with him anymore. Cash the paychecks and that is it.”
Another silence, while they both thought about what Jo had said.
“Well,
" said Marianne, “you do sound remarkably all right. I don’t hear that funny something that your voice gets, when you’re doing something you’re all excited about but it’s not for the best reasons.”
Jo smiled. “I am still as excited as ever, about a million things. But David is not on that list any longer.” She did a lunge while she talked, stretching her leg muscles that were in a continual ache from all the riding.
“Wait a minute,” said Jo. “There’s more. Last night, I was out walking, and another one grabbed me. Vampire, I mean.”
“What are you doing, out walking alone if this shit is happening?”
“I chased him off,” Jo answered, thinking that the full story could wait for another time.
“But so…this village…it’s not only David. There’s more than just one.” She shivered and climbed under the covers, still in her bathrobe.
“Jo, honestly, it does not sound like you are safe there.”
“Oh, sure I am! I spend most of my time with Thierry, who works at the stable. He’s a good friend now, and I’m sure if there were any reason I shouldn’t stay, he would tell me. Really good guy, Thierry. Plus, you know I can take care of myself,” she said, with a hint of defiance.
“I’m trying to take in what you’re saying, Jo. And I’ll tell you–I’m worried.”
There was a discreet knock at her door. “Oh, that’s Albert, bringing me dinner!” Jo exclaimed. “Don’t worry, everything’s totally fine. I’ll talk to you again soon, promise!”
Marianne tapped End and slowly put her cell phone down. And then, in typical Marianne fashion, she opened her laptop and began to research. If her friend was embroiled in something nuts, at least Marianne was going to know as much about it as anyone else.
32
Having made sure Angélique could handle David, and seen them off towards the Château, Henri made preparations to visit the dungeon, and his parents. With the trip to Paris and what seemed like one crisis after another, it had been too long since the last time. It was never a pleasant duty, but Henri did it anyway. And now he had a list of questions to ask his mother, as she was going to have to serve as his first test subject for labri Hemo-Yum. Must ask Claudine for a good product name, Henri noted to himself, and then smiled, realizing that no doubt the indomitable Claudine was already working on it.
It was after midnight. The Château was quiet. Henri let himself in through the kitchen door, thinking to have a snack himself and perhaps grab a bag of Hemo-Yum for his father, some new flavor for him to try.
Marcel kept a basket of stale bread for making crumbs and bread pudding, and Henri took a stale roll and found some butter and smeared it on thick. After a few bites, he rummaged around in the pantry–yes! Nutella! He smeared that right on top of the butter, and kept eating, leaving a trail of crumbs, on his way to the lab refrigerator with its stock of Hemo-Yum.
Let’s see. What’s new that Father would not have tried yet? What in hell is Kardashian? Foxy Brown? The marketing group at PolyLabs has been getting high at work again, he thought. He kept looking, and munching his stale roll, crumbs and flecks of Nutella falling inside the refrigerator. Ah, Catherine the Great. He might get a kick out of that one. Henri took the bag and stuffed it in a coat pocket, and headed for the dungeon.
Vampire eyes can see reasonably well in the dark, but he took a small flashlight anyway, one that shone a diffused light that was easier on his parents’ eyes. He needed to have a good look at them both, to assess their health properly. One crucial thing Henri had on his list, his long list, of problems and projects to work on, was figuring out why it was that his parents, and all the other vampires of the region that he knew of, aged in a way that vampires around the world did not.
Yes, there were some places in the world where vampires showed similar signs of aging–Croatia, for example. A few countries in Africa. But there were also many places like Bali, or Canada, where vampires appeared, barring energetic and clever slayers, to be more or less immortal.
If le Seigneur and Antoinette turned out to be immortal, Henri was going to make it his business to improve their lives from what they were now. Life in a pitch-black dungeon was hardly life worth living, in his opinion. He wasn’t sure what his parents thought, because how do you go about asking that question?
He moved quietly and quickly down the circular staircase, and then through the long corridor to their quarters.
Partway there, he could hear his mother moaning, in a singsong yet terribly pained cry, “I won’t hurt anybody. I won’t hurt anybody. Will someone take me home? I won’t hurt anybody. Please. Somebody.”
Henri’s whole body clenched. His mother’s voice was so mournful, so full of pleading. Yet so dissociated. A small voice inside told him to turn around and quickly get out of hearing of that voice, it was too painful to endure. But Henri kept walking towards their door.
Once again Jo came into his mind. He imagined her there with him, one warm hand on his arm, the other holding her own flashlight, fearless.
He did not knock but lifted his gaze to the iris recognition device and slipped inside as the door slid open, making as little sound as possible, knowing they would be able to hear him and ascertain who it was without being startled.
He walked a few steps into the blackness. “Good evening, Mother,” he said, holding out his hand.
Antoinette grabbed it and held it to her cheek. “Somebody came,” she said. It was not clear whether she knew who Henri was. She had declined an awful lot since the last time he had visited.
“Good evening, Father,” said Henri, reaching out with his other hand and patting le Seigneur on the back.
“Son,” le Seigneur said. His voice was thin, but clear. "Your mother is upsetting me. She got all frantic yesterday, and was rushing around, mumbling about something or other, and since this afternoon–I’m guessing since I have no idea what time it really is in this godforsaken hole–she’s been crying out like that, over and over. Will not listen to reason.
“Do something,” le Seigneur said.
“Somebody help,” said Antoinette, in that pleading, desperate, singsong voice. “I won’t hurt anybody.”
Henri was at a loss for what to say. He leaned in to his mother, kissed her on both cheeks, and then pulled up a chair right next to her. He put one arm around her and held her close, and with his other hand, he stroked her arm, then her cheek, trying to gentle her, the way he used to caress his beloved dogs and cats before he was turned and the animals wouldn’t go near him anymore.
“It’s all right,” he murmured. “I’m here with you.”
He kept stroking and kept murmuring, repeating and repeating, until he could feel her relax and she stopped crying out. Henri leaned back in his chair, already emotionally exhausted, and remembered the bag of Hemo-Yum.
“Here you are, Father,” he said, handing it over, “Thought you might like a little taste of the steppes.”
“It’s cold,” said le Seigneur with disgust.
“I suggest you put the bag under your armpit for about twenty minutes,” said Henri. “That should bring it up close to body temperature.”
“But I want to drink it now,” said le Seigneur, with the petulance of old age.
“As you wish,” said Henri. He turned the flashlight on and they raised their hands to block out the light, even though it was very faint. He flashed it quickly up and down their bodies, looking for anything that needed attention. Sometimes one of them fell, and got bloody, and forgot to tell anyone. Once his mother had broken her arm, and it was only discovered in this way, with Henri’s flashlight inspection.
He got up and wandered around their quarters, checking to see that their beds were in good order, that the room was clean enough, that they did not lack for water. He wished there was something he could do to give them some entertainment. But not being able to stand light or sound was terribly limiting.
He went ahead and spoke to his mother even though she did not seem to be capable of much
understanding.
“I’ve started a new project, Mother,” he said softly, his hand on her arm. “You know how I’ve been bringing Father his drinks? Well, I’m working on one for labrim. Just for you,” he said. “I hope it will help,” he said, his voice breaking just a little.
He had his list of questions but could see it was hopeless today. Antoinette had good days, or at least, much better days than this. This…was a bad one.
Henri leaned back in his chair and closed his eyes. He did not think that he had to fill up the visits to his parents with a lot of chatter; he was content to let his presence be enough of a balm. And Antoinette, at least, seemed to think it was. She had taken his hand again when he sat down next to her, occasionally pressing it to her cheek, kissing it, or crooning to it.
Le Seigneur was crabby. He had always been crabby, even as a child, and so nothing much had changed really, except that he had fewer people to take his crabbiness out on. He had put the bag of Catherine the Great under his arm for a few minutes, but did not have the patience to wait, and although he was sucking greedily at the bag, the coolness of the drink irritated him.
“I never made any wine that had notes of tundra,” he sneered.
“That’s not wine, Father,” said Henri. His tone was matter-of-fact, not patronizing nor snappish.
“Well, what is it then?”
“It’s a drink I made. Synthetic blood. So you don’t have to hunt,” Henri explained, as he had explained so many times over the last five years.
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