The Vampire Sextette

by Marvin Kaye

had cost him his life to save hers; and Falke, going willingly into the furnace of the

  Egyptian desert in order to be free of her and the life she gave.

  "No, Madelaine. Don't despair," he said, with the urgency of one who knew

  despair well. His arms went around her, and he drew her close to him as if to

  protect her from the weight of grief. "It is unbearable," he murmured, pressing his

  lips to her hair.

  She rested her head on his chest, listening to his heart beat, hearing the pulse

  quicken. "I am told one learns, in time." Her breath was deep and uneven.

  He reached out to turn her face up to his, searching out secrets. "What are

  you, then? I'd better warn you, I don't hold any truck with the supernatural. And

  don't preach religion at me, whatever you do. I get enough of that from Maria

  Ewing." He made an impatient gesture at the mention of his mother-in-law.

  "No religion," she promised. "Other than that most religion is against those of

  us who come to this life." She stretched out to kiss him, feeling yearning and

  resistance in his mouth. "We die, but slip the hold death has on us, and we live—"

  "On the Elixir of Life," he said, one hand sliding down her flank. "And how is

  this mysterious Elixir obtained?"

  "It is taken from those who are willing to give it," she answered quietly.

  "Where there is understanding, and passion, there is also great… joy."

  "Joy," he echoed, as if the word were terrible even as he pulled her inexorably

  nearer, kissing her with what he had intended as roughness but what became a

  tenderness of such intensity that he felt all his senses fill with her. He tried to push

  her away, but his body would not answer the stern command of his will; and as

  she guided his hands over the treasure of her flesh, he surrendered to her with all

  the strength of his desire.

  "Slowly," she whispered as she flicked her tongue over his nipples, seeing his

  shock and delight. "It is better if you savor it."

  "God and the devils! I am ready to explode!" He kicked back the sheet to

  show her, proud and embarrassed at once. "Hurry, Madelaine. I am at the brink."

  "Not yet," said Madelaine, bending to kiss him again as she straddled him. "Do

  not deny yourself the full measure of your passion, for you also deny me. This is

  not a race where glory goes to the swiftest." Then, with exquisite languor, she

  guided him deep within her.

  His breath hissed through his clenched teeth. "I can't—"

  "You can," she promised, remaining very still until he opened his eyes. Then

  she began to move with him, feeling his guard fall away as his ardor became

  adoration; at this instant her lips brushed his throat.

  They lay together until the first predawn call of birds warned them of coming

  day.

  "I don't want to leave," Sherman said, kissing the corner of her mouth. "You

  have enthralled me, Madelaine."

  "And I am bound to you, Tecumseh," she said.

  With sudden emotion, he pulled her close against him, his long fingers tangled

  in her hair. "What have you done to me?"

  "Touched you," she answered, "And you me."

  As he rose, gooseflesh on his pale skin, he brushed the arch of her lip with his

  fingers. "We will have to be very careful, very discreet. They know, me women

  here, that a man has appetites, but they will not look upon you with the same

  understanding."

  "Yes," she agreed. "I know," and turned her head to kiss the palm of his hand.

  He gathered up his clothes with care and dressed quickly, listening for sounds

  in the street. "I don't want anyone to know I've come here," he told her, his

  manner stern. "For both our sakes."

  She got out of bed and pulled on a heavy silken peignoir. "I am not about to

  cry it to the world."

  He paused in the door, regarding her steadily. "No, you are not," he conceded

  with a curious mixture of relief and exasperation. "It isn't in you to do that." Then

  he smiled, and the harshness left his face. He held his arms open, and she ran into

  them.

  San Francisco, 1 July, 1855

  Yesterday I met Tecumseh's two children, though he tells me he

  has a third child, Minnie, living with her grandparents, an

  arrangement that does not entirely please him. The children currently

  living with him were at a puppet show presented near the old Mission

  San Francisco de Assisi. I came with the Kents…

  He is clearly fond of both children, but takes the keenest delight in

  his son, Willy, who is still a baby; the boy has hair almost as red as

  his father's, and is quick and amiable. It is no wonder his father dotes

  on him…

  Most of my notes are prepared and ready and I am about to set to

  work in earnest…

  Sherman read the first three pages in growing disbelief. "Indians," he said to

  her at last. " Indians.' What in infernal damnation do you mean with this?"

  Madelaine watched him as he began to pace her front parlor, ignoring the

  raised, cautioning finger Baron deStoeckl offered him. "It is the subject of my

  studies." She was in a deep-green afternoon dress, and her hair was neatly

  arranged, as suited any woman prepared to receive guests; the filmy light from her

  curtained windows gave the whole room a soft, pale glow.

  Sherman would not be stilled. "Indians! What is the matter with you? How can

  you be such a romantic fool, to go among savages?" He was dusty from riding

  and made no excuse for it as he prowled his way about the room, refusing to look

  directly at her, for fear he might give himself away. "What do you know about

  Indians?"

  "Enough not to call them savages. I have been studying them," said Madelaine,

  determined not to argue uselessly.

  "Studying! A nice word for adventuring! But what do you know about them?"

  He put down the pages in triumph.

  "Not nearly enough," she answered steadily. "That is why I study them, to end

  my ignorance."

  "But you do not know what they are like; you prove that by what you're saying

  now," Sherman persisted. "You are one of the dreamers, thinking you have come

  upon discarded wisdom or neglected perceptions. You haven't a notion what kind

  of superstitious, bloody barbarians they are."

  "Some might say the same of me," Madelaine interjected in an undervoice, then

  spoke up. "I have already spent time among the Osage, the Kiowa, the Pawnee,

  the Arapaho, the Cheyenne, the Ute, the Shoshone, and the Miwok, without

  anything untoward happening to me. I am working from my journals and other

  records I have made. For my book."

  Sherman stared at her, aghast. "Is that what you are doing in America? Living

  with Indians?"

  "For the most part, yes," said Madelaine, her face betraying no emotion.

  "Don't you know how dangerous that is?" Sherman insisted, this time looking

  directly at her. "You think that they are noble, but they are not. I have fought

  Indian skirmishers, while I was mapping in the South for the army. I know what

  they can be. I do not need a pitched battle to show me the cruelty they embody."

  "They did me no harm, and I do not think they would ever do me any," said

  Madelaine. "Once they realized what I wanted to know, and were convinced of my


  sincerity, they were most cooperative. They permitted me to study them. As I

  expected they would do, since they are reasonable peoples." It was not quite the

  truth. "Most of them," she appended, aware of Sherman's keen gaze.

  "You were luckier than you had any right to be," said Sherman brusquely,

  breaking away from the spell of her violet eyes.

  "How can you say that?" Madelaine asked, unable to keep from responding to

  his challenge, though she realized he was deliberately provoking her. "What danger

  is one European woman to them?"

  "I was referring to the danger one European woman was in from them, little as

  she is willing to acknowledge it," said Sherman dryly. "I have some experience of

  Indians, remember. I have seen Seminole, Madame, and I know to my cost what

  implacable enemies they can be. They killed troopers who were doing them no

  harm whatsoever. They would ambush a few men and pick them off with arrows

  and blowguns. Indians are dangerous. And if the European woman is not willing to

  heed me, then be it on her head."

  Baron deStoeckl cleared his throat. "Perhaps each of you has a point? In your

  own ways," he suggested in French. "I do not mean to increase dissension, but it

  seems to me that there is good reason to concede as much to each other."

  Sherman rounded on him, his brows drawn down, his mouth a thin line. "I do

  not want any misfortune to befall her."

  "And I do not want any misfortune to befall my Indian friends, since they have

  endured so much already, although they do not complain of it," said Madelaine,

  sensing that Sherman might understand this better then he admitted. "You know

  that many of them have been forced to change their way of life since the

  Europeans arrived here."

  "As Europeans were forced to change their way of life when they came to the

  American wilderness." Sherman sighed once, his breathing strained. "It was not

  like visiting another European country, coming to this one. It still isn't, though we

  have cities and a few of the amenities of life. Not as we do in the East, of course,

  but this is not the frontier, as it was when I was here eight years ago. Then there

  were only a dozen streets in the whole of San Francisco." He sat down abruptly,

  his face draining of color as the severity of his asthma attack increased.

  Madelaine recognized the symptoms; she asked Baron deStoeckl to tend to

  Sherman for a moment so that she could fetch something that would ease his

  labored breathing.

  "Certainly," said Baron deStoeckl.

  "No need," wheezed Sherman.

  "Because it offends your pride to be helped?" Madelaine suggested, then

  excused herself and hurried toward the back of the house, calling to Olga to assist

  her. "I have a number of large stoneware jars in the cellar. Will you please bring

  me the one with the green seal. At once."

  By the time Olga returned, Madelaine had made a hot brandy toddy, and as she

  peeled off the seal with a knife, she explained, "This is a very old remedy. I

  obtained it while traveling in Egypt." She poured some of the contents into the

  toddy. "If you will seal the jar again and put it back where you found it?" As Olga

  obeyed, Madelaine took the toddy and hurried back to the parlor where she could

  hear Sherman trying not to cough as he labored to breathe.

  Baron deStoeckl was patting Sherman on the back and frowning when

  Madelaine moved him aside and held out the cup and saucer to her stricken guest.

  "What's this?" Sherman demanded with difficulty.

  "A toddy. It will make you better directly," she promised. "Drink it before it is

  too cool to help ease your trouble."

  Sherman glowered at her, but took the proffered cup and winced as he sipped.

  "It's hot." When the cup's contents were half gone, he was noticeably improved,

  his breathing more regular and less labored. "Thank you, Madame," he said as

  soon as he was sitting straight once again.

  "Finish the toddy, Mr. Sherman. You are better but not yet restored."

  Madelaine watched him sternly as he drank the rest and set the cup and saucer

  aside on the rosewood end table beside his chair. "Very good."

  "I am pleased you think so, Madame," said Sherman with a wry smile. "What a

  stern taskmistress you are."

  "I am concerned with your well-being, Mr. Sherman. Who else would handle

  my affairs as well as you have done?" This was intended to return their

  conversation to more formal tones, but it did not succeed.

  "What other banker would care enough to ignore the impropriety of your

  studies?" Sherman countered with a gesture of capitulation that made the sharpeyed Baron deStoeckl raise his brows in surprise.

  "I doubt you will do that, Mr. Sherman. I suspect you will adopt a flanking

  strategy and try to wear down my resolve through a series of skirmishes, like the

  Seminole." Madelaine did her best to make this a teasing suggestion, one that

  could not be taken seriously by either man.

  Sherman grinned. "Yes, a series of skirmishes along your flanks would be

  most… rewarding."

  The Baron lifted his hands to show he was helpless against these blatant

  flirtations. He leaned down and made one last attempt. "My good friend William, I

  think you are taking advantage of our hostess."

  "I would certainly like to," said Sherman incorrigibly. Now that he was feeling

  markedly better, he was seized with high spirits. "A covert campaign is required."

  "God and the archangels!" Baron deStoeckl burst out. "What of your

  reputation? What of hers?"

  Sherman regarded his friend with a canny look. "What danger are we in? You

  will not repeat what we say here, will you? I know Madame de Montalia will not,

  and neither will I, so where is the problem? You will keep our secret." He got up

  and strode to Madelaine's side, purpose in every line of his body. "Don't preach

  to me about good sense and prudence. Not now. Not here." With that, he caught

  her up in his arms and bent to kiss her.

  Few things flustered Madelaine; this unexpected demonstration unnerved her

  thoroughly. She felt her face redden, and when she could speak, she said, "What a

  burden you are imposing on your friend. Think, Tecumseh." She glanced at the

  Baron, about to apologize for the impropriety of it all when Sherman took her by

  the shoulders and nearly shook her.

  "Damn it, woman, I want someone to know." Sherman looked down into her

  eyes, and his sternness vanished. He went on quietly. "I want at least one man I

  can trust to see what I feel for you, so that I will be able to talk with him about

  what you mean to me when… this is over."

  "When your wife returns," said Madelaine.

  "When you leave," said Sherman.

  Baron deStoeckl bowed to them. "You may rely on my discretion," he

  promised them in French.

  San Francisco, 21 July 1855

  After an absence of sixteen days, Tecumseh has returned to my

  bed. This time he had no hesitation, no awkward beginnings. His

  embraces were long and deep and he undertook to follow my lead, to

  find out how long he could build his passion before spending. He was

  merry as a boy with a prize, and he romped with me for more than an

  hour before fatigue finally
overcame him. When I woke him an hour

  before dawn, he was as refreshed as if he had passed a full night in

  slumber, and was in good spirits when he left. He promised to come

  again in three nights, and said he would find good reasons for us to

  be in one another's company without attracting undue attention or

  gossip, which pleased me very much, for it is enervating to live with

  such close scrutiny as attends on single women in this city. I pointed

  out to him that this would require careful planning, to which he

  replied that he is very good at strategy and swore he would relish the

  opportunity, thinking it worthy of his talents…

  The warmth of the day was quickly fading before the chilling fingers of fog

  came, caressing the hills from the west. As they turned down the steep hill, the

  wind nipping at their backs, Sherman signaled Madelaine to swing her horse off

  the main road to the wooded copse, indicating through gestures that they could

  then dismount and put on their coats.

  "The Spanish call those two hills the Maiden's Breasts," he said to her as he

  lifted her out of the sidesaddle under the trees. He indicated the slope they had just

  descended. "I like yours better." He took the reins from her hand and secured

  them to one of the low-growing oak branches, next to where his grey was tied.

  "Less hectic to ride, I imagine," said Madelaine in spite of herself.

  "I wouldn't say that," Sherman whispered as he bent down to wrap her in his

  arms, his lips seeking hers. He took his time about it, feeling her warm to him; it

  promised well for the night ahead. When he moved back, he said impishly, "Isn't

  there any other land you would like to inspect, with the prospect of making an

  offer to purchase? I would have to escort you to advise you and negotiate for you,

  wouldn't I? I could not allow you to venture abroad without suitable protection. I

  would be remiss in my duties if I did—everyone would agree to that." He bent

  again, and moving the thick knot of hair at the nape of her neck aside, kissed her

  just under her ear. "Where you kiss me, Madelaine. When you pledge me your

  bond." His lips were light, almost playful.

  It took her a while to gather her thoughts, and when she did, she struggled to

  voice them. "That is a good notion, on its own; never mind the chance for privacy