Unbitten

by Valerie du Sange

  David let his legs fold over his head and then he fell to his side and got up. “What’s the matter?” he said to Henri.

  “Who are you talking about? Who wouldn’t let you into her room anymore?”

  “Jo,” said David.

  “What were you doing in Jo’s room?”

  “Fucking her,” said David simply.

  Henri felt suddenly cold, and then a surge of rage filled him and he turned on his brother. “You’ve been what?” he snarled.

  David had no idea why his brother was so angry. “Well, you said to stay away from the guests,” he said, defensively.

  “You haven’t done that either!” shouted Henri. “How long has this been going on? Why did she tell you not to go to her room anymore? Why wasn’t I informed?”

  The brothers both put their hands over their ears because of the shouting.

  “Henri, dearest of dear brothers, since when have you been interested in who I was sleeping with? Since when? You’re always in your lab, always toiling away for the good of vampire-kind, while I do my job, which is frittering the centuries away enjoying myself.” He grinned.

  Henri wanted more than anything to shove David to the floor and force him to tell every detail of what had gone on between him and Jo. He felt like his vampire heart was breaking, just thinking about his brother with her. She had sex with him? With David? Had he completely misunderstood who she was and what she was about? Was he himself nothing more than fun and games, a foreigner to toy with before going back home to the States with a few new trophies?

  Had his brother hurt her?

  He pulled David up to standing, and grabbed him by the collar. “Do not bother her again,” he said, his voice hard and tight and razor-sharp. For the second time that night, it was clear that disobedience was not an option.

  Marianne had walked around the Château grounds with Jo, holding hands with her, talking in the feverish way that best friends with a lot of ground to cover talked. Jo had described her nights with David, and detailed especially the night he had bitten her. Marianne listened with her mouth slightly open, fascinated.

  “I’ll be honest, Jo, when you first told me, I wondered whether you’d been eating funny mushrooms or something,” said Marianne. “But then I got online, and found…this whole world, this whole new…people want to hope it’s not real but it is. I mean, holy crap– vampires!”

  “Yeah,” said Jo. “Although you get your head around it pretty quickly when you see your blood dripping down a guy’s lip.”

  “And the other thing is,” said Marianne, “it’s not only vampires. I found stuff online that makes me think there are other beings, not humans or vampires either–witches, for example, are apparently not just a Halloween dress-up option.”

  “Hmm,” said Jo, thinking about her day in the forest, and the woman chewing a stick, and the strange bird-like sounds they had made.

  Marianne continued, “It’s no wonder they went into serious hiding, when you think about it. Nothing like a full force effort to burn all of your kind out of existence to make secrecy of paramount importance.”

  Jo looked fondly at Marianne. There was nothing her friend liked better than finding some new subject to research and burrow into, and this one was a doozy.

  “I have to admit,” confided Marianne, “that I can’t wait to meet David.” They walked farther down the gravel path, circling around to the stables. “And I had to–look–” She reached into the pocket of her coat and pulled out a silver cross.

  Jo laughed. “You worry too much, Marianne!” she said. “It’s not like David is out on the prowl every night, waiting to pounce on anyone who passes by. Yes, it’s true, he did bite me without asking, but there was some context, you know. We’d been sort of seeing each other. And he didn’t really hurt me.”

  Marianne cocked her head. “Excuse me for pointing this out if it sounds too blunt,” she said, “but you are not, um, you are a person who…”

  “Oh, Marianne, just out with it!”

  They laughed. “All right then. Your judgment in relationships is not sound. All right, it’s terrible. I know you still seem to believe David is a decent guy, as far as parasitic bloodsuckers go–” she interrupted herself with another laugh–“but I don’t know that he is, actually. You tend to be fearless when perhaps some fear is called for.”

  She swung her arm around her friend and gave her a squeeze. “You minimize,” she said.

  “Well, fine,” said Jo, almost huffy, but not quite. “Anyway, I’m not trying to defend David. That’s over. O-V-E-R.”

  “I’m glad,” said Marianne. "I’m carrying the cross because I figured, hey, this is new territory for me. I have no experience, that I know of, with being around vampires. So why not take simple precautions when it’s easy enough to do.

  “This was my crazy great-aunt Gertrude’s cross. She was found dead in her basement clutching it.”

  “It doesn’t sound like it did much for great-aunt Gertrude,” said Jo.

  Marianne pursed her lips and said nothing.

  “I want you to meet Henri next,” said Jo, trying to keep her voice level and nonchalant.

  “Quit it,” said Marianne.

  “Quit what?”

  “Quit trying to sound so offhand. I can tell you’re totally infatuated with him.”

  Jo grinned and took off down the gravel path, running hard and fast, and then spun around and ran back to Marianne.

  “You have more energy than is right for one person,” Marianne sighed. “I really need a nap. Can we go to my cottage for a little while, and let me recharge?”

  “Not infatuated,” said Jo. “That’s the whole thing I’m trying to tell you. We’ve gotten to be friends. I’ve only kissed him a few times. It’s different, I’m telling you. He’s different.”

  “Mm,” said Marianne, her lips still pursed. “Let me hear you tell it all to me after I’ve had some sleep.”

  Jo got Marianne settled in her cottage, appreciative of the way Angélique had made the extra effort of a vase of flowers and mineral water and a local wine. She closed the door quietly, Marianne already lying down with her eyes closed, and started back to the stables. She should have at least a short session with Drogo today, she thought, but her usual enthusiasm was lacking.

  Instead of taking the path directly to the stables, she swung around by the Château so that she would pass Henri’s lab on her way. She felt a little like a schoolgirl with a crush, but that was a joyful place to be and she didn’t mind it one bit.

  Around Henri’s lab it was quiet. She poked along, hoping he would come outside; he hadn’t come to breakfast either, that morning, and she hadn’t seen him since last night when they had said goodnight after a passionate kiss.

  That kiss, she thought.

  She was standing there on the path, looking blankly up at the Château, remembering, when she heard the door to the lab open and there was Henri, in his usual odd clothing. Jo grinned.

  “Good morning!” she called, waving and walking towards him.

  But Henri stiffened. His face was impassive. “Good morning,” he said, but his tone was dead cold.

  “What’s the matter?” said Jo, right away. She had never seen him like this–distracted, yes, but not cold. Never like this.

  Henri looked into her eyes as though he were looking for something in particular. Then he turned away, fiddled with the door, and went back inside without a word, the door sliding closed behind him.

  39

  Dominic was practically salivating, the job was so close to being finished. If only he could track down that useless Roxanne. You’d think, after what he and Maloney had managed to pull off, that they’d send someone more reliable. God knows the world is filled with desperate labrim willing to sell themselves for a couple of drinks.

  They were stuck at the inn, as usual, trying not to call attention to themselves. Maloney was asleep. Although Dominic valued Maloney’s special talents–i.e. his bulk and willingness to
follow orders–he was not exactly a stimulating traveling companion, and Dominic was anxious to get back to the States to enjoy the fruits of his labors.

  He went to the cooler that was filled with his company’s synthetic pouches, newly arrived yesterday evening. He sighed, looking at the choices.

  “Our company pretty much stinks, in the blood department,” he complained out loud, waking Maloney. “After a month on this stuff, I feel sick to my stomach even looking at it. And I’m all bloated,” he said, patting his belly. “I wish we could risk just one night of hunting,” he said longingly. “I want to bite a woman so bad I can hardly stand it. Fucking small towns.”

  “I like the almond pastries from down the street,” said Maloney. At his feet was a virtual snowbank of the little white papers that the bakery girl used to pick the pastries up and put them in the waxed bakery bags. “I’m going to pack my suitcase full of almond pastries when it’s time to go home,” he said.

  “They’ll just get stale,” said Dominic.

  “I don’t care,” said Maloney. “I like the almond pastries so much, I won’t care how stale they are.”

  “You can get almond pastries back home,” said Dominic, irritated.

  “Shut up, Dominic! Those are not like the almond pastries from down the street! They are not!” Maloney got up and started pacing back and forth.

  Usually Dominic knew better than to argue with Maloney, but he was losing his cool with all the waiting around.

  “When it gets dark,” he said, “we’re going out to look for Roxanne. She’s in Mourency, somewhere. I don’t know why she’s taking so long to show up at the inn–the text from the office said she’s got to be seriously thirsty by now.”

  “Boss liked Pierre’s papers?” said Maloney, reaching into a giant bag of Haribo candy and stuffing his mouth with fluorescent gummy worms.

  “Yes,” said Dominic. “Pierre totally came through. The stuff is legit, and the Boss is happy. For now.”

  We’ve got to get the other half of the documents, he thought, the pressure feeling like a whipster closing around his throat. Find Roxanne, hand her over to Pierre who’ll give us the rest of the goods, and we’re outta here. We need those documents. And we’ve got to get them soon.

  Tristan came back to the gendarmerie after a long lunch at the Lion D’Or by himself, where he had spent far too much time thinking about Jessica, so absorbed in his memories and fantasies that he had barely noticed what he was eating. Boeuf en daube, almost entirely wasted.

  “We’ve received faxes and emails from all those inquiries,” Roland said, after they had a quick conversation about what they had had for lunch. "Nothing. No sign of Callie Armstrong anywhere. She’s not back home, in Concord, New Hampshire. Her parents haven’t heard a word from her since just before her disappearance, and they had expected she would be in Rome by now. But she was not on any flights to Rome, and has not shown up at the hotel where she had reservations. Her cell phone is dead. Her luggage has not been found.

  “Of course, she is young, and could easily have changed her plans and simply not let anyone know yet. But from all accounts, Callie Armstrong was not that sort–she was responsible, she stayed in touch, she was not given to unpredictable wildness.”

  “You’re using the past tense, Roland,” said Tristan softly. “And I will add, that it is not even a bit unusual for travel to a foreign country to bring out some of those qualities you say she does not have. A young woman could be the epitome of responsibility and level-headedness, and still, on a holiday away from her usual life, fall into a romantic situation where she behaves rather differently than usual.”

  “I have not met any of these women,” said Roland with a laugh. “Too bad for me!”

  Their laughter died down quickly as they considered the girl.

  “So it appears, does it not,” said Tristan, “that Callie Armstrong is still somewhere at the Château. One way or another. That is what you think as well?”

  Roland nodded. “I thought for sure we would find her in Rome,” he said. He got up and stood by the window, looking out as though there was some chance she might stroll by on her way to the café next door. “But now I agree with you, that our best efforts should be spent searching the Château and its grounds.”

  “No small job,” said Tristan.

  “No,” concurred Roland.

  Both men had being doing police work for years, but in small Mourency, neither had ever had to face the prospect of searching for a body, a body that would not be fresh. They were not looking forward to the coming days.

  40

  After Henri had gone stonily back into his lab with barely a word, Jo ran to the barn and the comfort of her horse. She mounted Drogo and took off galloping into the forest, making a loop around to a side path where she and Thierry had constructed a number of jumps, some very wide and some very high. The ground was hilly, and it was arduous for Drogo and for Jo as well, and they both welcomed the hard, sweaty work.

  She was walking him afterwards, letting him cool down, the reins loose, when from a distance, she saw Thierry leading Prunelle out of the ring, with Marianne not only no longer napping, but mounted on the horse. Since Marianne, throughout their friendship, had been adamant that riding a horse was something she would never, ever consider doing, Jo looked on with interest.

  As she and Drogo got closer, she saw Thierry stop and walk back beside Marianne. Prunelle, the gentlest mare in the world, reached down to munch some grass while Thierry took hold of Marianne’s leg to show her the proper placement. He pulled down her heel and put both hands around her calf to rotate it in, towards the horse’s flank.

  Jo saw Thierry look up at Marianne, still holding her leg with both hands. She could not hear what either of them was saying, and wasn’t quite close enough to see their expressions. She thought she saw them laughing. Thierry’s hands went a little higher. He took one palm and swept it down Marianne’s leg, from her hip to her foot, and with the other hand, he reached up to her ass and seemed to be rubbing it slowly, as he continued talking.

  Marianne, holding tight to Prunelle’s mane, stood up in the stirrups then, plainly on his direction, and he appeared to still be talking as he continued to touch her, reaching and stroking down the inside of her thigh, and then again.

  Jo had taken a lot of riding lessons in her life, by a wide variety of teachers with different styles of teaching, and she had never experienced anything that looked like what Thierry and Marianne were doing.

  She felt a stab, suddenly, of feelings she had managed to put away during her hard ride that morning–feelings not even so much of missing Henri, but of missing his goodwill towards her. Missing how his face went from distracted to warm when he saw her, like he had just unexpectedly stumbled on a long-lost friend. She had no idea what had happened, what had changed, but sadly, that unaccountable unpredictability was exactly what she was used to.

  Not that it was any less painful for being so.

  She was closer now, and could see the brightness on Thierry’s and Marianne’s faces, how lit up they looked, and then, slowly, really slowly, as though they were in a movie and they were in slow motion–Marianne bent down and Thierry turned his face up, he reached up with his strong, rough, horseman’s hands and pulled her down to him, and kissed her. Honestly, Jo could practically hear the music swelling as she watched them.

  It hadn’t occurred to her, because she didn’t have the matchmaking tendency, but now that they had thought of it first, yes, it was completely obvious that Thierry and Marianne would be great together. Of course, there is never any accounting for chemistry, but it appeared from the length and intensity of the kiss that chemistry was not a problem. At all.

  Jo turned Drogo towards the stable and away from her friends, to give them privacy.

  If she could stop thinking about the frozen sound in Henri’s voice, she would be thrilled for them. But as it was, instead she felt tears welling up, as she was flooded with mixed up, contradictory e
motions.

  One thing she loved about Henri was exactly that he was not capricious, not moody. From the first time she met him, he had seemed to her a person you could completely rely on. Someone who was not dying for you one minute and spurning you the next. Stalwart. Loyal. Someone who showed up, even when things were difficult.

  Had she misjudged? Had something happened that she didn’t know about? Was she taking something personally that had nothing to do with her?

  The only way to get any answers was to talk to Henri. She took Drogo’s saddle off and began currying him, already feeling a little better having decided on a course of action. She leaned up against her horse and breathed long breaths in and out, appreciating his size and letting his smell comfort her. Drogo turned his head to watch her, and then he curled his neck around her, tossing his head just a bit, to let her know how much affection he had for her.

  Jo had a swipe of mud going along one leg, straw stuck to the bottom of one boot, and her hair was sweaty and sticking out so that she looked like a cartoon of a disheveled person. She tried to smooth it down and then swore, as she felt herself getting pink in the face before she even walked up to Henri’s lab.

  She was feeling embarrassed in advance. Embarrassed at having to ask why he had turned away from her like that, so cold, like she meant less than nothing to him. You don’t kiss a woman like he had–twice!–and then act like saying good morning gives you a bad taste in your mouth. You just don’t.

  She took off down the path, for once not noticing the birds that flew up at her approach, or the shape of the clouds, or any of the things that would usually take up her attention as she walked.

  Jo strode up the stone steps and rapped on the door, the movement of walking up the path helping her embarrassment fade in favor of anger.

  The door slid open and Henri was right inside, facing her.

  “Just what was that all about?” said Jo, her face flushed with indignation now.