Hotel Transylvania

by Chelsea Quinn Yarbro

  I suppose it is too much to hope that we will still have Gervaise d'Argenlac to command. I hear that he won a great deal last night, and even with his ability to create his own ruin, it will take a while for him to be in desperation again. He was useful to us when ruin faced him, but now he is a danger. He may be on his guard against us, which means we will have to tread carefully. If Chenu-Tourelle is to join the Circle, he must rectify our position with d'Argenlac. We risk discovery if one of us moves too much in d'Argenlac's affairs. He must be forced back to danger again, before his wife can secure herself with him. He must be made to believe that his wife is working to his destruction and complete subjugation. In that alone may we hope to have his help in taking Madelaine.

  Be reminded then that I am depending on you to deliver Madelaine de Montalia to me not later than the tenth day of this month. She is mine, promised to me before she was born, and I will not be thwarted in my claim to her. I will require forty days to make her ready for the sacrifice, so that her will is amenable to ours. I must have that time with her or her death will be wasted. I will not tolerate any more interference. She must come to our altar to give up her virginity and her life to our Power. Each of us must use her after our own fashion, so that her blood may release us. Mere degradation is abhorrent to me. She must be annihilated, extinguished in body and soul utterly.

  You, and Jueneport and Châteaurose, are charged with delivering this woman to me within ten days. I will accept no excuses if you fail. No reason will be sufficient. There will be no place in France far enough from me for you to hide, and no horse fast enough to carry you beyond my vengeance.

  There is one more task for the Circle which must be settled soon. I have ordered a few of the Circle to search out this mysterious Prinz Ragoczy, who Le Grâce says is still in Paris. He may be difficult to find, for it is obvious that he is a man of great power and may be reluctant to share his learning with us. If we have him in our hands by the time we perform the ritual at the Winter Solstice, we will be in a position of even greater strength. It will be possible to force the secret of the jewels from him, and any other secrets he may possess—even, perhaps, the secret of the Philosopher's Stone, if he has it. His death, done properly to release his power to us, is much to be desired. To sacrifice Ragoczy and La Montalia together, one in the flesh and the other in the mind, will benefit every one of us greatly.

  Be warned, then, Donatien. You have much to gain from the Circle: wealth, power, the ready fulfillment of your desires. But you have much more to lose. And your life is the very least of the risk. I beg you ever to be aware of that, so that you will be inspired to discharge your duties successfully.

  In this and all things I have the honor to be

  Eternally at your service,

  le Baron Clotaire de Saint Sebastien

  Chapter 1

  Ahead on the bridle trail le Comte and la Comtesse d'Argenlac rode side by side. Gervaise was talking eagerly, explaining to his wife for the fifth time how he had won so much money the day before. "And on the duel," he added with renewed enthusiasm, "I put ten thousand louis on Saint-Germain to win that, at three-to-one odds. This very morning I sent a draft to Jueneport discharging my most pressing debts to him. And I still have twenty thousand left, and that should double in the next week, I am sure."

  La Comtesse did not appear to be listening. She looked very young and vulnerable in her light-blue riding habit with the military cockade in her fashionable hat. "Be satisfied with these winnings, Gervaise," she said pleadingly. "We might leave Paris, and live on your Anjou estate, if you like. You have always said you are happiest there."

  "But you love Paris, Claudia," he objected, with a tinge of malice.

  "Of course," she agreed. "But I do not like worrying and doubting, and being half-mad, fearing that our hôtel will be taken away or that my estate will be forfeit to your gaming debts. I would far rather live out of the world without worry than endure more years of this."

  "But I have just told you," Gervaise explained with exaggerated patience, "that my luck has changed. It will all be different now, you will see."

  "Oh, Gervaise." She sighed, feeling resigned, helpless.

  "There you go," he accused her. "You doubt me, you have no faith. No wonder I cannot win. You condemn me and revile me. I can do nothing worthwhile in your eyes."

  "It's not that," she said, knowing that he would not listen. She looked back over her shoulder to the two riders behind them, calling out, "Madelaine, if you want your gallop, this stretch is very nice. It is clear for a considerable distance. Saint-Germain, will you ride with her?"

  Madelaine turned bright eyes on her companion. "Will you? Say you will." Without waiting, she called, "You had best pull to the side of the path, dear aunt. I can be quite a reckless rider." She gave one taunting glance to Saint-Germain, then spurred her Andalusian mare to a bounding gallop.

  Saint-Germain gave her the lead of less than a minute, then urged his smoke-colored stallion after her, waving once to la Comtesse as he raced by her.

  On one side of the wide path rose formal woods, the trees almost bare now, making weird shadows with their empty branches. On the other side, between neat, ordered banks, ran a shallow river, moving swiftly to join the Seine, scolding itself as it ran. This parkland was well-kept, manicured for the nobility who used it, so that rude nature would not intrude too roughly on well-bred sensibilities.

  It was a chill autumn day of the sort that promises winter in every shadow and in its very stillness, as if the season were holding its breath in anticipation. Thin streams of clouds clung to the very top of the sky, tingeing it light gray, like a stone vault impossibly distant. Several leagues away, a fine, thin line of smoke rose straight up the emptiness between earth and heaven. The keen air smelled faintly of that smoke, and of mushrooms.

  The bridle path was well-tended, groomed expertly so that no rider need fear for the safety of his mount or watch for a treacherous gopher hole or root lying in his path. It was a path made for this kind of day, and for one last mad race before winter took the joy out of riding.

  Laughing, her fawn-colored habit flying around her, and her face glowing in the wind her headlong gallop created, Madelaine rode in fierce exhilaration. She had not been on horseback since that dreadful day on the hunt at Sans Désespoir, and she had feared that the memory of that terrifying chase would cast a pall on her pleasure. But it was not so. She could wish this run would last forever.

  Saint-Germain's Barb was closing with her. The sound of his mount's hooves was very near, gaining on her. She did not look back, but heard him shout to her, "Keep to my offside!"

  Obediently she eased her mare to the right, making room for him beside her. They rode that way for several minutes, sharing the speed and the bite of the cold instead of words as the horses stretched out to full speed.

  When they had covered some distance, they saw not far ahead a bridge over the shallow river. Saint-Germain called to her, "Pull up at the bridge! We'll wait for the others!"

  Madelaine was about to object, hating to give up this wild intimacy, but she could feel her mount begin to strain at the pace. With mild regret she pulled her mare in, dropping from gallop to canter, to trot, and finally to a slow walk, letting her hands slacken their hold on the reins. They were much nearer the bridge now.

  Saint-Germain swung out of the saddle, leading the Barb along the path while the horse cooled. They seemed quite alone in the afternoon.

  "Shall I dismount, too?" Madelaine asked when they had gone on a little farther.

  "Only if you want to," Saint-Germain replied, looking up at her.

  "I would like to be with you."

  There was a strange smile in his eyes. "You are with me, my dear, more than you know." He shook off his abstraction. "I'll give you a leg up if you need it later."

  "What did you mean?" She had bent in the saddle to hear him, and was a little frightened to find him now so remote.

  He turned to her. "That you
are with me? I have tasted your blood. You were right to compare it with Communion. It is that, when there is love."

  She felt questions suddenly jumble together, and impulsively asked the first one that came to mind. "Saint-Germain, are you a Catholic?"

  "Upon occasion."

  Madelaine scowled down at him. "Upon occasion?" she echoed, bemused. She shifted in her sidesaddle for better balance.

  "Well, I have not in the general sense been baptized, though in the past I have supported the Church and made endowments when such a course was wise. Of course, I do not take Communion," he went on in a different voice, a slight smile lingering about his wry mouth, "or, not in the usual way."

  She slapped at him playfully with the end of her rein. "I didn't mean that." Her delight faded, and was replaced by a quiet withdrawn expression. "In the church, Saint-Germain..."

  He shrugged. "It is not what you think, Madelaine. Do not mistake what I am with Saint Sebastien's Circle." He looked away from her, across the softly running river, his face enigmatic. "It is the fault of your prelates, who have confused the heretical and blasphemous worship of your Christian Devil with the doings of those of us beyond death. Most of what is said of us is superstitious nonsense. I do not deny the miraculous nature of the life of Jesus. From what I have read, he, too, rose from the dead."

  Madelaine tried to look shocked, and failed. "Saint-Germain."

  "It is common belief that one born at the Winter Solstice will be a vampire." He saw her flinch at the word, but went on. "If that is so, it certainly puts a new light on the resurrection. And in memory of Him, blood is drunk, is it not?" The words were flippant, but his tone was not. "Oh, I know, my kind should fear the cross and cringe at the mention of God, if you believe the folk tales. But just as many of us lie in consecrated ground, so we lie under crosses, and in churches, before altars. Yet we walk. It is not the sacred signs that stop us, Madelaine. I can hold a crucifix in my hand and suffer no torment for it. You would find it otherwise with those who worship the Devil, the Power used for evil and destruction. It is they, not I, who cannot endure the cross. It is they, not I, who are not able to touch the symbols of the Power as God."

  Madelaine had let her mare wander toward the bridge, and as the Andalusian set her hooves on the old paving stones, Madelaine checked her. "I forgot about water," she said, turning to Saint-Germain.

  He, too, had stepped onto the bridge. "You need not worry. I am protected." He looked up at her, and the wan light made auburn glints in his neat, dark hair, for he had removed his tricorne and was carrying it tucked under his arm. "Yes, that belief is quite true. In general, I cannot cross running water. But you see," he added as he stopped to lift one leg and touch his boot heel, "I learned long, long ago to fill my soles and heels with my native earth. As long as I am shod, I need not fear sunlight or running water."

  She laughed aloud. "And I thought your shoes were thicker because you were vain! I was certain that you wanted to be taller!" Alarmed by her outburst, the mare tossed her head and almost broke into a trot. Madelaine controlled herself and gave her mount's neck a reassuring pat to quiet her.

  He laughed, too, and much of his somber mood fell away. "Madelaine, my heart, you are a minx."

  "If I am truly your heart, then it matters not to me what else I am." Her sudden intensity forced him to look up at her, and to see the passion in her eyes. "When will you come to me again? When, Saint-Germain?" She waited for an answer, and when one did not come, she went on in a low voice. "You must come to me, Saint-Germain. I couldn't bear it if you did not come to me. Say you will. Say it."

  Saint-Germain studied the rein in his hand as if he had never seen it before. "Madelaine, I have warned you what might happen. It is not just the blood, though that is part of it, but the closeness. If I taste of you again so soon..." The words stopped.

  "Then let me drink yours. Please, Saint-Germain, as you love me."

  He had closed his eyes as if in pain, and at last said, "No," very softly.

  "Why not?" Impatiently she pulled her legs free of her saddle and slid to the ground beside him, turning to him with her demand. "What you give me is ecstasy. Do not forbid me to share that with you."

  His words were louder, and harsher. "Yes, I forbid it."

  "Why?" She stood at the crest of the bridge, blocking his way. "Why?"

  "Very well," he capitulated. "If you were to taste my blood, Madelaine, you would most certainly become a vampire. You would be as I am." He turned to look over the river, feeling a certain vertigo that he always experienced when crossing water.

  "Is that so terrible a thing to be?" She came closer to him and looked into his face. "Can you tell me that it is terrible?"

  "It is very lonely." He found it hard to return her gaze, knowing what he would see in her eyes. If she were not so willing, he would not be vulnerable to her. Not since Demetrice, more than two hundred years before, had a woman caused such tumult in his life. Often in the past, he had been either their dreams, as he had for Lucienne Cressie, or a hated thing, to be avoided. Yet Madelaine knew him, knew what he was, and did not shrink from him. She sought his embrace wideawake, and met his desire with her own. He dreaded the loss of her, and at the same time wished to protect her from the consequences of his passion. "And you are very young."

  The river ran under the bridge, clattering against the ancient stones like an impatient officer knocking for admittance. In the chill waters the gray sky was muted by the ripples spreading over the surface like gooseflesh. The two horses were reflected with the bridge and a dark-haired young woman. But of Saint-Germain there was no sign on those rushing waters.

  "Is that all? Just loneliness?" She put her hand on his arm and smiled inwardly when he did not pull away. She stepped closer still.

  Still he did not turn. "It is very dangerous. We are hated as much for our immortality as for our... feeding."

  "And is it any more dangerous for you than it is for me to live now as I do? Was I in less danger at Sans Désespoir than I am with you? Does my mortality guard me against Saint Sebastien? Saint-Germain?" Gently she turned him toward her. "Can not you believe in my love for you? Does it mean so little to you that you will shut me away from you?"

  He hesitated only a moment, then pulled her into his arms, holding her against him. He made a last desperate attempt to turn her from him. "You are not the first, Madelaine. Nor the last. No matter what happens between us."

  Her eyes yearned up at him. "I know."

  Gently he touched her mouth with his, the kiss almost chaste. He felt her body quiver with emotion, and he relented. "No, I do not mean that. What I feel is only for you. You do not have my love exclusively, Madelaine, but uniquely."

  She rested her forehead against the firm line of his jaw. "I am glad," she said, and could not help giving a satisfied chuckle.

  Looking back along the bridle path, he said with regret, "Your aunt and her husband will be along shortly." He tightened his arms around her.

  "Isn't there time?"

  "No." With one hand he touched her face. "I will come to you, Madelaine, since you will have me. After your fête, I will come to you."

  She caught his hand in one of hers. "Promise!"

  There was mild surprise in his face as he raised his brows. "I have said it, my heart. My Word is sufficient."

  She seemed about to insist on the promise, but something in his manner gave her pause. Lifting his hand to her lips, she kissed it once on each small finger. Then quickly she stepped back from him, pulling her horse around to remount.

  He stood beside her. "Here. Give me your foot." He waited until she had readied herself, then tossed her up onto the saddle.

  "Thank you," she said, her formality returning again.

  "Ah. Look there," he said, pointing toward two riders who had appeared around the gentle bend in the bridle path. "La Comtesse and her Comte. Not a moment too soon." He vaulted into the saddle without recourse to the stirrups.

  "They have s
een us," Madelaine said, waving. She let her mare walk off the bridge, turning to say to Saint-Germain, "I am glad we have had this time alone. It would have been dreadful to have remained uncertain."

  "You were uncertain?" He pulled his stallion alongside her mare. "Mademoiselle, I will fear you are trifling with me if you say such things."

  She spoke the next words softly, but he heard them. "I was never uncertain of myself. I only feared that perhaps you would not want me, or would tire of me after the first time. I know I am very young... particularly to you. It would have broken my heart if you had been seeking sensation. I could have borne outright rejection better than that."

  He let his intense gaze rest on her for a moment. "You need not fear: the last time I sought sensation that way, Heliogabalus was Caesar. I lost my taste for such sport more than a thousand years ago." He turned his horse's head toward the approaching riders, and went on, in quite another voice, 'The opera for your fête is to be a surprise, my dear, and I will not tell you more than that."

  "Madelaine! Saint-Germain!" La Comtesse d'Argenlac had raised her riding crop to wave.

  They returned her salutation, Saint-Germain remarking to Madelaine as le Comte and la Comtesse came abreast of them, "I am looking forward to meeting your father, Mademoiselle. I understand that he is to arrive tonight."

  Grateful for this deft turn to their talk, Madelaine said, "Yes, that is when we expect him. He has not been in Paris since before I was born. It will be delightful to watch him discover the city all over again. I hope I may prevail upon you to take him to those places where it would not be appropriate for me to go."