London, England. It is the 1960s...

Julien has been around for almost 500 years, and most of that time he’s been alone. Relationships are a power struggle, extremely violent, and he intends to hold the reins.

Jeanette has problems with relationship. In her shallow world, Julien is just another man to be manipulated.

When these two strong, determined personalities clash, power changes hands again and again and again.

Who will win, who will lose? And who, ultimately, will survive?

Two of the most popular characters in the vampire series Power of the Blood meet in a novel of passion and violence, intrigue and revenge.


A thoughtful, breathless danse macabre of passion and horror.

—Karl Edward Wagner

...a sly commentary on the human fascination with danger and the darker aspects of human nature.

—Chelsea Quinn Yarbro

BLOODLOVER

Nancy Kilpatrick

Baskerville Books Toronto, Canada

Bloodlover © 2000 Nancy Kilpatrick

All rights reserved. The use of any part of this publication, reproduced, transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise, or stored in a retrieval system, without the prior written consent of the publisher - or, in the case of photocopying or other reprographic copying, a license from the Canadian Copyright Licensing Agency - is an infringement of the copyright law.

Canadian Cataloguing in Publication Data

Kilpatrick, Nancy

Bloodlover

(Power of the Blood series; 4th)

ISBN: 0-9686776-0-6

I. Title, II. Series: Kilpatrick, Nancy. Power of the Blood series; 4.

PS8571.1493B56 2000 C813‘.54 COO-930793-1

PR9199.3.K436B56 2000

Cover art by Hugues Leblanc

Cover, layout and interior design by Hugues I.eblanc

Published by:

Baskerville Books

Box 19, 3561 Sheppard Avenue Hast

Toronto, Ontario

Canada MIT 3K8

http://www.sff.net/people/NancyK

http://www.baskervillebooks.com

http://pages.infinit.net/tapholov/
 

Publisher’s Note:

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination, or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to any persons living or dead, business establishments, events or locales is entirely coincidental.

As a lifetime progresses, the number of people who have been helpful and encouraging begins to add up. One person who read this manuscript in the year in which it was created, and without whom I might not have continued on, is Eric Kauppinen. Someone else very dear to me is my ex, Michael Kilpatrick, who read this—and married me anyway! Others who have stood by me are: Naomi Bennett, Rob Brautigam, Sephera Giron, Stephen Jones, Bob Hadji Knowlton, Robyn MacGarva, Elizabeth Noton, Michael Rowe, Karl Schroeder, Mandy Slater and John Went. A very special thanks for all the love to Mari Anne Werier, and mon compagnon Hugues Leblanc, who designed the amazing cover of this book. And finally, to Caro Soles of Baskerville Books, long-time friend and astute publisher, who gave these vampires life.

CONTENTS

Prologue

LIFE BEFORE DEATH

1   2   3   4   5   6   7   8   9  

LIFE AFTER DEATH
 

10 11 12 13 14 15 16 17 18 19 20 21 22 23

DEATH AFTER DEATH AFTER DEATH

24 25 26 27 28

You die only once, and it’s for such a long time.

—Moliere Le Depit amoureux

Because I could not stop for Death,

He kindly stopped for me;

The carriage held but just ourselves

And Immortality.

—Emily Dickinson “The Chariot”

Prologue

Blood! Rich. Sensuous. Alive!

...thumpthump...thumpthump...thumthump...

Each beat of the human heart sent gobs of the precious red liquid down through the jugular, spurting out from the wounds he’d inflicted.

... ThumpThump... ThumpThump... ThumpThump...

He gulped it slowly, letting the stolen heartbeat infiltrate his body.

...THUMPTHUMP... THUMPTHUMP... THUMPTHUMP...

And when the heart of the other stopped beating and his own began to pound, roaring through his brain, thundering warmth and energy into each starved cell, finally the vampire was sated.

Now the hunt could begin!

LIFE BEFORE DEATH

Sometimes The Devil is a gentleman.

—Percy Bysshe Shelley “Peter Bell the Third”

CHAPTER ONE

Since returning to London one month ago, Julien had spent many hours here at The Players’ Pub carefully planning his assault, refining his role, patiently waiting for the curtain to rise. He watched her the way an actor off-stage studies a scene, anticipating his entrance. Even now, at this distance, he noticed every gesture, every detail. With his preternatural hearing he picked up each word and nuance.

“Richard, look at this! What do you think’s inside?” She nudged the silver-haired, middle-aged Englishman standing next to her at the bar.

Richard turned away from the young man he had been talking to. “What’s that, then, an invitation of some sort? Likely another of Prissy’s silly little parties. Of course, I’m not invited, am I now? Not after the last time.”

“Oh, stop being petulant. Priscilla doesn’t hold a grudge. For long.”

Her accent was North American, her tone casual.

“Besides, Alvin was drunk. I’m sure he had no idea what he was doing.”

“That’s what they all say!” Richard roared, and then turned back to his youthful companion.

For several seconds she held the envelope just the way a child would, thrilled, excited, trying to guess what was inside. Her name, Jeanette Price, was printed neatly across the front in thick, black letters. She turned the envelope over and stared at the seal across the lip. An image of an animal’s head had been impressed into the red wax. She laughed and carelessly broke it open. Inside she found a sheet of fine-quality grey linen paper. While she read the handwritten note, she looked completely absorbed.

Mademoiselle Price,

Pray, forgive my boldness. I greatly desire your company at my table, perhaps to partake of a refreshment.

Although you may, understandably, be otherwise occupied, should you be gracious enough to spare me but a few moments, I shall be eternally in your debt.

J.S.M. de Villier, Comte

“Good Lord! Richard, you won’t believe this.” But Richard waved a hand, indicating that he was not about to be disturbed again.

“Jimmy!” Within two seconds a slender waiter paused near where she stood at the bar. “Who gave you the envelope?”

“I don’t know his name, Jeanette, but he’s seated over there, behind the ferns.” He pointed towards the shadowy secluded corner where Julien sat.

She squinted, as if unable to make out through the smoke-congested air who was there. Obviously intrigued, she picked up her small purse from the bar and said softly, “Well, nothing ventured.”

Fascinated, he never tired of watching her. She seemed to glide through the room, a blaze of scarlet, in an imitation Victorian gown. He listened to the taffeta rustle. The dress, only a costume, was narrower at the sides than what he remembered as being usual during the Romantic Period. The floor-length skirt, with embroidered gauze and Venetian glass beads, flattered her slim and, at the same time, voluptuous figure. Around her long slender neck lay a two-tiered collar of faceted rubies and seed pearls. Matching droplets hung from her ears.

Her hair was the colour of sunlight, a colour he’d long ago forgotten. Her body, elegant yet sturdy, moved with an earthiness that aroused him; he had no trouble imagining her beneath him, moaning, crying, begging as he deeply penetrated her flesh.

He knew that his instincts were correct. There was something special about this one. He could sense it, just beneath that pretty but vacuous surface. A volcano most thought extinct. Ready to erupt.

Julien wanted her with all the passion he was still capable of feeling. But at the same time he wanted her exposed. He knew himself well enough to understand that he needed to dominate her and, because of that, felt intimidated. Maybe he was not powerful enough to have her. It occurred to him that in the end she might destroy him—there was always that chance. But these thoughts soon gave way when he noticed that something had shifted. Before his eyes the others in the noisy, crowded pub melded into a colourless mass. Only the two of them were left, locked together in the moment, destined.

Jeanette picked up on the costume first. Most of the pub’s customers were actors who worked at the theatres in the area. They’d use any excuse to dress up, even for a non-British holiday like Halloween. Of course, there were plenty of other vampires in the room, as well as the usual abundance of witches, ghosts, pirates and sheiks. But his costume was really fabulous. He’d taken so much trouble with the details that she was impressed.

He wore a matte black suit. Under the jacket a vest, what used to be called a waistcoat, and beneath that a brilliantly white silk shirt with a starched collar, the tips of which folded down over a black cravat. A grey pearl stud held the scarf in place.

Although the room was warm, he wore a fine, layered black cape, French style, a copy of something that Napoleon might have owned. The perfect final touch, and a sexy one at that, was the lacquered ebony walking stick with a gold handle moulded into the shape of a wolf’s head. It lay across the table at a taunting angle.

He was so well put together that Jeanette almost laughed. He looks like he’s just stepped off the stage at Covent Garden, she thought. Besides Dracula, with a little alteration in the makeup, he could play Heathcliff in Wuthering Heights. Almost a walking cliché.

But more than what he wore, she noticed the intensity of his eyes. The black irises became even more striking when she neared—his pupils were even darker! Black holes in space, absorbing everything in their wake—what caused her to think that?

His eyes, set off by the white makeup, almost glowed, refracting every colour; they seemed to zero in on her. The overall impression left her a little unsure of herself, but not enough to retreat.

“Hi!” She reached out a hand. “Jeanette Price. I take it you’re the mysterious Comte de Villier? Love your outfit!”

He had stood as she approached and now tried to pull out a chair but she got to it first.

“That’s okay. Chivalry appreciated, but wasted.”

He looked confused. She took back her unshaken hand quickly and they both sat.

“I’ll get the waiter. Jimmy! Over here.” Jeanette turned back to examine her admirer up close.

Slender. Late thirties, about my age, she thought. The lines of his face were classical, almost sculpted. She felt attracted. He reminded her a little of paintings of medieval lords she’d seen last month at the Louvre.. He might be sensitive but he seemed withdrawn, and that made him look harsh. He’s probably good in bed, she thought. Maybe, with any luck, even better than good. He had a magnetic quality that made her feel he could be both responsive and dangerous—a combination she found irresistible in men. But there was an other-worldliness too. He’s like a hologram, she thought, here and not here at the same time. A little spooky.

When someone finally broke the silence, it was neither of them. “The usual?” Jimmy asked.

She nodded.

Julien held his hand over a large wine glass half filled with a thick dark-red liquid, and Jimmy left.

“What’s that you’re drinking?” she asked.

“It is a rare wine of mysterious origin. An ancient blend inspired by one family for many centuries.”

“Umm, sounds great. Can I have a sip?”

“I’m afraid this vintage is an acquired taste.” His voice was rich and full, and she had a memory of a taste—Devon cream. She thought she noticed traces of an accent. “It invites few connoisseurs,” he added.

“Well, I’d like to try some anyway. My tastes run to the exotic,” she said, and tossed him a coy look.

He didn’t seem to catch the innuendo. Instead he looked her in the eye. Is this guy trying to hypnotize me, she wondered, and turned away from the intensity.

Almost as if he was desperate to get her attention, he started talking. “I am, I fear, rather sensitive to disorders of the blood. A condition which has afflicted my line for generations. An almost hypochondriacal fear of contamination, one might say. An obvious neurosis, but certainly not entirely without foundation.”

Jeanette managed a sarcastic smile. The old over-educated one-upmanship game, she thought, feeling disappointed. “Fine,” she said irritably. She picked up the glass of water that Jimmy had brought with the Scotch and drank the contents; Then she held the empty glass out. “Why don’t you pour some in here. That way we won’t contaminate each other.”

But he didn’t move. Stubbornly she held out her arm until it became uncomfortable.

Now she was really annoyed. She banged the glass onto the table. “Hey, you don’t want to share. No problem. I’ll just order myself a bottle of this unusual wine, unless you’ve got some objection to that too.”

She started to raise her hand to call the waiter. It wasn’t until he was gripping her wrist firmly with a cool hand that she realized she had not seen him move. In a low, confident, almost commanding tone he said, “Let me assure you, what you see here is vastly inferior in both quality and vintage to the caliber of which I am accustomed to partaking. If you’re still intent on this experience, kindly allow me, at some future date, to introduce you directly to what, for me, is its true essence. Perhaps you will, after all, like the wine. However, I’d greatly regret your sampling an inferior vintage when I know this drink at its finest. Please permit my instruction in this matter for both our sakes, if not for the sake of the reputation of that ancient family which has so proudly nurtured this unique blend for centuries.”

Jeanette realized her jaw had dropped. She was flabbergasted. It wasn’t so much the weird convoluted arguments or even the archaic language, but more how seriously he was taking the whole thing that unnerved her. Couldn’t he step out of character for a minute? But at the same time, she was struck by the sincerity in his voice, even if he did sound like a stuffy Victorian scholar.

And then she experienced another strange sensation. It was like a crease in time, a feeling of having drifted, as though she had missed a couple of beats somewhere along the way. Normally she never let herself lose an argument, but something made her say, “All right,” just to get it over with. Yet in the back of her mind a little voice warned, hold on, honey, this is just the beginning of what’s going to be a very bumpy ride. She picked up her drink and smiled. “Well done, Count.”

Julien’s face was cryptic, but as they clinked glasses, he did say, “Touché.”

CHAPTER TWO

“So, what’s the J.S.M. stand for?” Jeanette relaxed back against the red velvet armchair, sipping her scotch.

“Julien Stephane Marc.”

“Are you a real actor or a real count?”

“A count.”

“Impressive. You’re French?”

“By ancestry, yes.”

“Where do you live in France?”

“When not travelling, I reside in Austria.”

“Well, all this explains your good looks. I mean, Frenchmen are always so exciting. Julien S. M. de Villier, why don’t you tell me all about yourself.” She checked her watch. “You’ve got ten minutes before I’ll get bored.”

He stared as if he did not understand her.

Jeanette felt impatience rising. “Hey, look. I don’t work for Gallup. I’m not doing a survey.”

She sensed he was measuring her, trying to formulate sentences to appease her. She studied his face and noticed traces of weariness around his mouth and eyes. But almost immediately his features changed, hardened, and became like a smooth piece of marble, guarding whatever was hidden beneath.

“I am a retiring man by nature. I have few friends and do not. easily make the acquaintance of strangers.”

“So, why ask me over here?”

“You wish to know and understand me in ten minutes—”

“Oh, come on! It’s a joke!”

“To know another requires a commitment. Of time.”

She shifted in her chair. No sense of humour. And he’s so intense. Sounds like the possessive type. I’d better watch out, she thought, or I might have a hard time getting rid of him later. She decided to keep it light. “Actually, I never commit myself to anything. I think it shows poor taste, don’t you?”

Julien heard this and much more. She was the personification of a hollow age where silence and stillness were enemies, ominous doors behind which lay emptiness. This era—the latter half of the twentieth century— disgusted him. It lacked both beauty and insight and had to resort to nostalgia as a lifestyle. She was bored, jaded. At least he had his inner world to sustain him, a world rich in tradition and honour. In a sense she was more alienated than he.

“I have just recently returned to London and am new to this place,” he said, indicating the posh Drury Lane pub that catered to theatrical types, artists, and wealthy dilettantes. “I have noticed you on several occasions.” As he took in her face, smooth, oval, with serious milky-green eyes, the colour of aventurine, and the thin, coquettish mouth, he felt enchanted. “You are an exquisite woman. And renowned. I had almost despaired of making your acquaintance. You are, how can I put this, extremely well fortified.”

Jeanette broke into a long relaxed laugh. “Yes, I guess I am ‘well-fortified’. Sometimes too well. I hardly have a minute to myself most of the time. In fact, I’ve been thinking of taking a little vacation soon, just to get away from the rabble. But then, I’m not like you. I love talking to people because everybody’s so incredibly fascinating. I just wish I had more time. But I guess even if I had all the time in the world, it probably still wouldn’t be enough.”

Life emanated from her and Julien was attracted. He wanted to reach out and pull her to him. He wanted to capture that feeling for himself and to share it with her. “Perhaps you will someday have what you wish.”

“I’m too greedy. I’d always want more.”

“And should you be offered eternity?”

“Well, I’d be really tempted by the devil’s bargain. I guess I’d have to see what he wanted in exchange. Of course, I’d get the best deal I could. Wouldn’t you?”

As the hours passed they chatted easily, the way old friends do. They discussed art and the theatre and when the topic turned to history, Julien entranced her with his knowledge. He explained how, during the Renaissance and Baroque periods in Europe, classical humanism and Christian spirituality had been so artfully blended. He spoke eloquently on the new interest in mathematics which came to affect fields as varied as philosophy, painting, the military and astronomy, all passions that had been close to his heart. For the first time in centuries he spoke of those times when he had been mortal.

“It all sounds so grand and romantic,” she sighed. “So many progressive changes. The arts, governments, everything reaching out from the dark to be enlightened.”

Suddenly, her fantasy infuriated him. “You, today, have no concept of how barbaric those centuries were. You view only the cultural and aesthetic reforms, yet each minute change carried a heavy price. No one escaped, from the poorest of serfs to the aristocracy. Everyone lived under the tyranny of ignorance and very few indeed were able to break the yoke that bound them.”

She looked surprised. “You sound like you were there.”

The innocence of her light eyes subdued his resentment of the past that had created him. “I have been intimately involved with the study of history for many years. Perhaps too intensely for me to discuss the subject casually.”

Eventually the conversation drifted to the occult. He was surprised to learn that she knew something of divination, the Kabala, Tarot, the I Ching, Palmistry, astrology, numerology and, as well, she had explored past-lives. An eclectic child of this new age, he thought. She knows a little about many subjects.

“I even shaved my head completely bald and had my cranium read. The psychic told me I’d have a long life and lots of lovers. So far, so good. By the way, what’s your sun sign, astrologically speaking? What month were you born?”

“November.”

“Before the twenty-first?”

“Yes.”

“Oh, lord! I knew it!” She sat back suddenly. “We’re both Scorpio, what a disaster! Do you have any idea what our sign rules? Sex, power and death! We’d feed off each other if one of us didn’t sting the other one to death first. But you don’t care about that—Scorpios never do. Oh, speaking of Scorpios, once I was involved in a Satanic Mass!” She giggled like a mischievous little girl.

Julien said nothing.

“It was all pretty silly, really. Some friends and I formed our own version of a coven. Bill, my ex-lover—he was a Scorpio too, so I know what I’m talking about—used to joke that you had to be listed in the social registry to get in. We were thirteen self-proclaimed witches and warlocks, dedicated to the worship of Satan and the consumption of Russian caviar.

“Anyway, one year at the solstice—you know, the day the sun shines through the arches at Stonehenge?—well, we decided to go there and perform our ‘rites’. Of course, this was before they roped off the monuments. Now you can’t get within a block of them. But then you still could.

“All we did was chant a lot, burn incense and kneel on the hard dirt until our knees ached. We built fires and tossed in some herbs, trying to evoke The Primeval Forces of Darkness” she said dramatically with a flourish of her hand. Then she smiled. “Julien, do you believe in the Devil?”

“I believe that I could be the Devil.”

She laughed. “Well, anyway, we were having a terrific time. And while we sure weren’t the only nuts there, still...” Her eyes clouded over with a far-away look, as though the past had intercepted the present.

“It’s weird. I remember the air being...funny, kind of misty and hazy. And it was cold, too. There was so much pressure in the atmosphere—more than that, it was just such a strange day—that most of the people left before sunrise, even Bill and some of the others. I stayed, but I don’t know why because I distinctly remember thinking I just wanted to escape. It turned even colder. The wind howled as if a storm was coming. The whole sky went black except for this one patch where the sun would rise. When the sun finally showed through the old columns, the wind died and everything was very quiet.”

Suddenly Jeanette stopped talking.

Julien watched her, searching for ways to entice from her what she hadn’t said. But then, as though the burden she carried had become too great, her brows pulled together, wrinkling her forehead, and a look of fatigue took over the youthful face. Almost reluctantly she volunteered her experience completely, as if it must either leave or destroy her.

“I...I didn’t see anything. Or even hear anything unusual. I don’t know just how to describe it.” She lifted her glass and drank the rest of the scotch in one gulp, then looked up at him with frightened eyes.

“I...sensed something. The sun...it...it pulsated. It looked...engorged...with blood. A great pool of human blood...like an ocean of crimson tears...with one thin cloud cutting through it like a silver sword piercing a living heart.”

Her body trembled slightly. “When the sun finally rose above the monuments, I turned to go. I felt like I’d been there an eternity. That’s when I noticed I was all alone. Everybody had abandoned me. I was terrified. At that moment I felt as if I’d always been alone. I’m not sure why, but it was almost as if...as if that was some ancient secret the universe entrusted me with. I’ve never told anybody this before. I didn’t tell the others; I guess I knew they’d laugh at me.”

Julien moved his hand over hers and she jumped at the contact. She met his eyes and her face filled with fear.

In an instant her mood shifted completely, expressing the party state of mind that defended her against what was frightening, blanketing all fears of the unknown. She laughed loudly, flirtatiously, easing her hand out from under his.

“And that’s it. The big mystical experience of my life. Pretty lame, huh? The tricks your mind will play on you when you’ve swilled too much champagne.”

All too soon the pub was ready to close its doors. Julien had not, in a long time, experienced the closeness he felt towards this woman. More than ever he knew he had to have her. The emptiness of his existence was washed away by her presence and he had no intention of letting her escape.

“Well,” she said, picking up her bag, “I guess it’s ciao time. Oh, please, don’t get up.” But he was already standing.

“I’m going to a surprise birthday party—for me,” she laughed. His brow, chin and high aquiline nose were prominent, and she thought he looked dignified, intellectual, even commanding. His lips, full—sensual... Jeanette shuddered; she couldn’t help imagining them warm and insistent against her own.

His stare seemed fixed but she had the impression he could see very clearly a lot of what went unobserved by most people. He’s attractive, she thought, like a Harlequin hero. Almost cruelly handsome and exciting.

“Since you’re a Scorpio too, you might as well come. We’ll celebrate both our birthdays.”

He looked deeply into her eyes and said a quiet, “No.”

Jeanette didn’t contest this but stood quietly herself, as if waiting for something. But she also felt impatient. “My friends are champing at the bit.”

A half smile from him.

She waited, but he seemed passive. “I better run.”

When he still didn’t reply, she partly turned away from him. But almost unable to free herself from his presence, she faced him again.

“Look, I live over on Tottenham Court Road, number 13. Why don’t you come by some time for what those of us from the new world so euphemistically like to call ‘a drink’?”

But the invitation went unanswered.

Confused, she searched his eyes. Dark. Unfathomable. His face was a mask that betrayed nothing.

“Well, ta!” This time she made a full turn away.

He grabbed her so fast and held her so tightly that she wasn’t sure if she had actually turned at all. Before she could wonder further, his face moved towards hers and Jeanette held her breath, anticipating theatrical aggression. But she was surprised. His kiss. Light and quick. She barely felt the contact.

With a cool hand on the back of her neck, he brushed his lips over hers a second time, then past her cheek to her right ear, finally to her throat. Instantly, the jugular drew him. Hot. Swollen. Inviting.

Lust nearly overwhelmed his mind and body and he had to use all the control he could muster to resist the urge to bite her then and there and suck in the warm, coppery liquid.

He could hear the tension in his voice. “I shall see you again.” He hadn’t intended it as a question nor a statement. And more than any command, he knew it sounded exactly like what it was, a predestination.

Julien waited until she left the pub before disappearing into the night, blending with the shadows.

He prowled the streets with one driving need—thirst!

The icy burn at the core of his being threatened to annihilate him. Both the chilliness of the night air and the cold within pierced his limbs from opposite directions, forcing him towards warmth.

Senses alert, he picked up the salty-sweet human scent nearby. Darting down one lane, then another, Julien soon spotted his prey. With the speed and agility of a jungle predator, he overtook the startled young man, overpowering him even before a sound could form on his lips.

He eased his long canines deep into the delicate throat. Thick liquid heat bubbled from the punctures and, in his lust to drink, he tore pieces of flesh away.

It was over quickly and the dead, limp body carelessly tossed into the back of a passing garbage disposal truck where the remains were crushed into unrecognizableness within seconds.

Warm and lucid again, Julien smiled. He licked the last of the delicious saltiness from his lips, thinking of her. She would be his mate. And if that didn’t work out, he would make her his slave. Either way, it didn’t matter. He would be satisfied.

CHAPTER THREE

As the taxi turned a corner under a lamp post, Jeanette tried to focus on her Rolex. Five a.m. No wonder she was tired. She’d had too much to drink again and stayed at the party longer than she’d wanted to. And let’s face it, she told herself, you were bored. This party was just like the last party and the one before that. She’d have rather been with that sexy Count.

All night long she’d fantasized about the mysterious man from the Player’s. She wondered if she would see him again. Would he remember her address? He didn’t write it down. She’d been a real idiot not to get his number.

Her thoughts went over a conversation she’d had just before leaving the party.

“Priscilla, I met the most fabulous man tonight!”

“Dear girl, you meet a fabulous man on an average of once each evening. It’s a bloody hobby with you.”

“I hope I’m not that shallow. Anyway, this one’s different.”

“Deja vu time!”

“Sometimes I get really tired of these modern guys. They’re so, I don’t know, soft in the middle.”

“I couldn’t agree more. Sensitive is one thing but they really carry it a bit too far, don’t they. Besides, all the good ones are married, gay or eunuchs.”

“Priscilla, what are you complaining about? You and Alvin have been an item for at least two years.”

“Precisely my point.”

“Well, this guy’s unusual. He’s intense. Deep. He makes me feel...special, as though I’m more than just another pretty, nouveau riche. He’s not the kind of man you can push around; he might not take no for an answer. That’s kind of thrilling, don’t you think?”

“If you say so, darling.” Priscilla looked around, bored.

Jeanette suddenly felt wistful, even melancholy, a feeling that often came over her when she’d had too much to drink. She sensed a loneliness and started to say, “You know, sometimes I think there must be more to life than—”

“Oh, for heaven’s sake, Jeanette!” Priscilla had cut in sharply. “You’re becoming unbearably existential. Birthdays will do that. Life’s far too short to go off on dreary philosophical tangents. That’s what we pay psychiatrists for. Here. Have another glass of Mumm’s.”

Jeanette told the taxi driver, “It’s right here.”

They drove along the roundabout and stopped in front of the marble steps leading up to the entrance of the block of chic Georgian flats. She handed him a ten pound note. “Keep the change.”

At the door, she searched her handbag. The only light was from a mock gas lamp and, in the state she was in, it wasn’t nearly enough. “Where the hell did I put those damn keys? Why is it I can never find... Ah!”

She was fumbling, trying to insert the proper one in the lock, when a pale hand swathed in black reached out and took the keys from her.

“Julien! What are you doing here?”

“I believe you offered me refreshment.”

“Well I did. God, you fly jet speed. But, it’s okay, really. I drive optima myself. Come on in. The night, she is still young, sí?”

“Indeed,” he said, unlocking the door. In the hallway, she moved towards the first door on the left. He unlocked that too, opened it and let her go in first.

“You’re really up on Victorian manners,” she giggled. “You’d be a real hit at one of my friend, Priscilla’s, parties. What are you doing out there?”

“I am, how would you phrase it, rather old-world.” Jeanette laughed again. “Look, I don’t have any engraved invitations handy so you’d better just come on in before you’re arrested for loitering in my foyer.”

He stepped inside, locked the door and then handed her the keys which she dropped along with her purse onto a nearby table.

“Well, this is my hovel. Sit.” She gestured towards the Louis XIV sofa she’d just had re-upholstered in a regency blue brocade, but he continued standing. She didn’t know what to make of that so she moved across the room to the bar, a little too quickly, almost losing her balance. “Drink?”

He didn’t answer but he was looking at her strangely. “Hey, just make yourself at home, okay? I’ll be right back. I want outta this dress. I don’t know how those women did it. Oh, and help yourself to...whatever.”

She left him by the door and went into the bedroom, thinking maybe this isn’t such a good idea. She wondered if he’d been hanging around all night waiting for her. He’s acting pretty strange, she thought. And, really, what do I know about this guy? Maybe I should give Richard a call and get him over here, just to be on the safe side.

She slipped off the tight pigskin and pearl ankle boots and then checked her makeup in the mirror.

Julien walked to the doorway of the bedroom. The decor of her flat was a relaxing blend of eighteenth century France and England. Walls the colour of a robin’s egg met white bordered windows and French doors. The blue and gold drapes and one Chippendale chair with a petit-point cushion reminded him of a time before, nearly lost in his memory. It pleased him. But even more alluring was the woman who stood with her back to him, quietly and seductively removing her jewelry and hair pins.

“Ravissante!” he murmured. She turned, startled, surprise evident on her face.

“Oh! I thought you were still in the living room.”

She continued taking the pins from her hair. Brilliant white-gold strands fell across her shoulders and down her back and he felt transfixed by her unique beauty.

When she finished, she went behind a low dressing screen made of lacquered wood and painted rice paper and took off her clothes. It was just as she was slipping into a Japanese kimono mat he moved towards her

“Julien, darling, fix me a drink? I know I’m already tipsy and I should have some coffee—probably even espresso—and I will, but for right now I’d love a scotch. I’m a total scotch fanatic. Just a bit of water and very little—”

But before she could finish, he grabbed her wrist. Lust spread through him like acid eating away at metal. “You will have nothing further to drink. I do not enjoy the taste of alcohol on my lips nor the feel of it in my blood.”

Jeanette felt intimidated by the way he kept creeping up on her, and upset by how he held her now. But the first reaction she could verbalize was a response to his touch.

“Your hand! It’s burning hot!”

Before she could say another word, he pulled her roughly towards the bed, knocking over the screen. Only his strength and quickness kept her from falling.

She wanted to protest, to do something about the way he was treating her, but everything was happening so fast that she felt stunned. From the alcohol. From the action.

He pinned her arms behind her with one hand and with his free hand undid his pants.

Pleas tumbled from her lips. “Julien. Darling, please. Don’t be so rough. You don’t have to rape me, for God’s sake. I’d...I’d love to fuck you, really. But, please, let me go. You’re hurting my wrists.”

“Love?” he sneered. “And what could your kind know of love? You are incapable of comprehending the emotion if not the word itself.”

His smile was malicious but that’s not what she stared at. Two teeth. Sharp. Fang-like. Unbelievable. A little cry came out of her mouth. He reacted by ripping the silk kimono from her body.

Her fear accelerated and a full scream raced from the depths of her soul, filling the room, cascading down the walls and seeping under the doors and windows, hoping for contact with human ears. A scream cut short when he shook her and threw her onto the satin duvet.

Falling. Backwards. Almost in slow motion. Her ears rang and the room went hazy. No! she ordered herself. You will not faint.

The moment she hit the bed he was on her, trapping her arms, pressing her down with the full weight of his body.

Power surged through him, so delicious the intensity of it nearly overwhelmed Julien. He pried her lips apart with his and slid his tongue into her hot mouth. She struggled a bit but he sensed that most of her conflict was internal. She seemed unsure of how to respond and that made him want her more.

He forced his penis deep into her vagina. Sensation flooded him, encouraging immediate ejaculation, but he steeled himself.

He thrust hard, trying to make her open to him. But almost immediately he realized that wasn’t working. He stopped moving and pushed himself up. He wanted to see her yielding. But what he saw was an intricate maze, a fortress of defences, shutting him out.

Her defensiveness hurt him.

The face Jeanette saw terrified her. She tried to speak, to diffuse his desperation, but words wouldn’t come. Instead she pleaded with her eyes.

He began moving again, slowly, sensually, a rhythmic stroking. He caught her mouth in a passionate kiss and she had trouble believing the change.

She instructed her body to not respond but it ignored her. His firm flesh massaged the folds of soft, wet skin inside and her own movements became defined. Sensations rippled through her.

Her alcohol-soaked brain refused to analyse the right or wrongness, the seriousness or the consequences of what was happening. All she felt sure of was that she wanted him inside her. And when he let go of her wrists, her arms spontaneously flew around his neck and pulled him closer.

Her responsiveness aroused him even more. He loved the wetness of her and instinctively moved fast and deep. She was close to release. He let his lips wander to her neck, kissing the smooth skin several times, finally pausing over the jugular.

Her breath became ragged as she closed around him. He felt her coming and held the moment.

She cried out.

Julien penetrated the throbbing vein.

His incision sliced quick and clean, and he knew that Jeanette, inebriated and lost in passion, was unaware of the bite.

Even as their passion subsided, he continued to lap at the life oozing from her neck. Her searing blood coursed through him, energizing, recharging, warming what was always cold. And it was only when he sensed too much of that blood leaving her that reluctantly he pulled away.

To continue would defeat his purpose. They must be bound by a tie stronger than the blood if she were to be his.

He pierced the inside of his wrist and held it over her lips, filling her gaping mouth with his vitae. She submitted, swallowing obediently, unaware of this exotic drink.

For the rest of the night he lay by her side, fascinated, touching her, delighting in her. She looked weak and helpless but beautiful to him as she drifted through an intoxicated sleep. She had not disappointed him. More than any of the others, she met his challenge in an unexpected way. He had imagined that the battle between them would be physical. But this was much more interesting. Her struggle was internal— the part that needs pitted against the part that denies those needs.

He made a decision, a challenge to himself. He would only bring her over if she wanted him. But he knew she wanted him. All that separated them was her mortality.

He left her to her dreams and returned to the streets. What he gave depleted him; he would need to feed again, perhaps a child.

“Tomorrow and tomorrow and tomorrow...” he thought, as he drained the little girl.

CHAPTER FOUR

Jeanette awoke slowly to a pounding in her head. When finally she managed to open her eyes, her head was spinning.

The first thing that came into focus was the frilly white canopy above the bed. From there her eyes travelled along the walls and across the furniture and finally came to rest on her left hand, lying limply on the duvet.

“Jeanette. Are you in there? For God’s sake, open the bloody door!”

Richard. Yelling her name, banging on the door of her flat.

When Jeanette attempted to sit up, she realized just how dizzy and weak she felt. Her mouth tasted like dried out leather and her brain seemed stuffed with cotton balls. But finally she managed to sit and then stand and even reach for her kimono lying on the floor beside the bed.

“I’m coming,” she called, stumbling into the living room, but her voice to her own ears sounded almost inaudible, and Richard continued yelling.

When she finally opened the door, he nearly fell into the room. Dramatically he grabbed her by both shoulders, talking a mile a minute. “My God, girl! I’ve been going bonkers! No one’s seen you in nearly two days, not since you left the party Tuesday night. And you weren’t answering your phone or door. Why, the neighbours said they hadn’t heard a peep out of you either. Christ!” He ran a be-ringed hand through his silver-streaked hair. “We thought you’d been raped and pillaged.”

“Richard, don’t be so theatrical.” Her heart beat wildly and she felt light-headed. She moved towards the couch and sat down before she fell.

Finally he calmed enough to notice her condition. “What’s wrong with you, luv? Are you ill?”

She didn’t know what to tell him but found herself lying, just to get him off her case. “Yes, I’ve been sick. It’s just a cold, really. I’ve had a fever and chills.”

“You should’ve given me a jingle. I’d have dropped everything.” He breezed past her to the bar and mixed himself a brandy and soda. “Drinky?” He held up his glass.

She shook her head. “Oh, Richard, I’m sorry, I honestly am. I didn’t realize you’d be so worried.”

He took a big gulp then came and sat next to her. “You’ve no idea how worried I’ve been. And not just me, but everyone. Why, we almost had the coppers here, we did. I’d have rung them up meself but Prissy insisted you’d been chatted up by some gorgeous bloke and wouldn’t appreciate it.” Richard took a drink.

Jeanette felt unbelievably weak. The conversation was exhausting and she wished he would leave so that she could figure out what was wrong.

“You really gave us a fright, girl. So, tell me. Are you all right?”

She nodded, her mouth too dry to speak, her stomach too unsettled for even water.

“You don’t look at all well. Why doesn’t Auntie Richy call the doctor. Maybe even an ambulance.”

“Really, I’m fine. It’s just with this fever I’ve been so tired. I need rest, that’s all. I’m already taking antibiotics and feel a whole lot better today.”

“But, you’re so pale. You look like your bloomin‘ blood’s been drained.”

At his words, she pulled the kimono tightly to her throat. “Look, Richard, I hate to ask you to go, but I’m tired and need rest.”

“Why don’t I call our Miss Priss to come over and sit with you tonight. I’d love to stay, but I’ve got this heavy date and he looks just like a French Michael Jackson. But I’ll come by tomorrow night. I’ll make you chicken soup and we’ll read Dickens together, or maybe Justine, and I’ll nurse you back to health and we’ll have a lovely time and—”

“No! I’m sorry, Richard. I didn’t mean to yell. It’s just that I’m exhausted. The phone’s been ringing constantly, and people have been coming by and, really, I need rest.” With difficulty she stood and walked to the door, holding it open for him.

“Well, never let it be said of Richard James he was too daft to take a hint!”

“Come on, Rich! Don’t be like that. I appreciate your concern, really I do, but I’ve just got to sleep.”

He sighed heavily before putting down his empty glass and joining her. “Can I get you anything?”

“No.”

“Tea?”

“No.”

“Something from the chemist’s? They’ve these divine little throat lozenges now, stamped with the Queen’s image.”

“No.” She pushed him out into the hallway.

“A man then!” He gave her a mischievous look that another time would have made her smile.

“Goodbye, Richard.”

As she closed the door firmly she heard, “I’ll ring you tomorrow morning, and you’d better answer the bloody phone!”

As soon as he was gone Jeanette dropped into a pit of exhaustion and confusion. Two days, Richard had said. What, in God’s name, has been happening to me that I’ve been asleep that long, she asked herself.

Slowly she walked into the bedroom and sat on the edge of the bed. She struggled to concentrate, trying to remember.

Tuesday... Tuesday. What day was it? She pressed a button on the clock and it told her today was Thursday, November 20th and the time 9:00 p.m.

Dazed, she looked around the room. Everything seemed in its place; the dresser, the armoire. But the Chinese screen! It lay on the floor! Over the back of a chair she saw the scarlet dress. And then she glanced in the mirror and saw herself.

She gasped, and a hand went to her cheek. She staggered to the vanity, staring in horrified shock at her haggard chalky reflection. Deep dark lines were gouged under her eyes. Not only her face, but her lips, her hands and even her neck appeared utterly drained of colour and vitality. She lowered the high-necked gown down her shoulders and noticed two large irritated sores on the side of her throat covered in dried blood. Fearfully she moved closer to the glass to examine them, pressing them with her finger tip; they were spongy to the touch.

Before panic gripped her, she hurried to the medicine cabinet and dabbed disinfectant on the wounds. Maybe an insect bit me, she thought. Something that spreads disease. Maybe a mosquito. Could she have malaria?

But she just couldn’t remember. Anything. It was as though events had been expunged, deleted from her memory.

Exhausted, she returned to the bed to sit down and think and that’s when she noticed the blood stains on the duvet.

Hysteria welled, and she wrapped her arms around herself. “Get a grip!” she commanded. “Think, or you’ll go crazy. Backtrack! What happened Tuesday?”

She checked her date book. The party. She traced the entries beginning the day of the surprise party. She’d gotten up late, had taken some items to the cleaners, had gone to her aerobics class, had come home and written a couple of letters, then had dinner with Alvin and Priscilla, returned home again and then dressed to go out for the evening. Yes, she was sure of all that—she’d worn the red Victorian outfit, that’s why it was draped over the chair.

She remembered being at The Players‘, but only vaguely, as though in a dream. She struggled to focus her thoughts.

The pub was crowded, as always. Music, chatter, cigarette smoke. But she had a feeling of separation, as if she was there but not there, again, like a dream. She also had a feeling of searching, for something, or someone.

She was at the edge of a memory. Concentrate!

A man! Yes, I was looking for a man, she remembered. But who?

Mentally she scanned a list of friends and lovers but none seemed right. But she knew she was on the verge of something important and directed herself back to the feeling.

A man I don’t know yet somehow do know, she thought. Strange. Mysterious. Cold yet burning hot.

An image began forming in her mind. Tall. Slender. An overwhelming sense of darkness. His eyes, like hard polished obsidian, were blackness itself, swirling and deep.

Jeanette saw him! Horrified, she jumped up and backed away. There! In the doorway. The very spot where she had stared blankly!

Her scream could have chilled the blood of the bravest man, reducing him to a pool of despair, but Julien had her by the throat, cutting off the sound He backed her up against the wall.

Her body trembled violently. Two weak hands fluttered to her aid but she couldn’t budge his iron grip.

“I have come for you again, my love,” he whispered, which accentuated the look of terror on her face.

Instantly he was aware of her condition; paler than she should be, he realized that he had taken too much too soon. She might die now, and be lost to him. After waiting so long, he would not permit such a fate.

He pulled her close and she did not resist. The feel of her, the smell, like a rich blend of vintage grapes—intoxicating.

“You are far too weak. I shall give you life again. But still, you are so lovely,” he said, caressing her face. Her fantasies are child-like, he thought. He found it easy to act out his part in this drama.

He wove his fingers though her soft hair, interlocking them with the silky strands at the back, catching them. Gradually he pulled her down until she knelt in front of him.

“You will suck me. I command it!”

Large tears sprang from Jeanette’s eyes. “No,” she said in a small voice.

Julien raised her face, forcing her to look at him. “But you must obey me, otherwise you will die. And if you die now, you will be far worse than dead, my love.”

He felt an agonized smile twist his features. Unlike most, he knew what eternal isolation and rejection meant. The smile broke, and a bitter hollow laugh came out of him. That sound split his pain like pressure cracking ice on a pond.

She gasped at the sight of his incisors, and fury replaced his agony. How dare she refuse to comply instantly with his commands! An urge to hurt her came over him. His emotions raced along until interrupted by her words.

“What...what are you? Why are you doing this to me? What do you want?”

His reply cut her swift and sharp. “You will suck from me or die tonight. And if you die here, now, you face an eternity of torment unequalled by even your most hideous primitive concepts of hell. You will die a thousand times every night, each more painful and brutal than the death before, with never an end to bother praying for. If you do not belong to me, you will belong to no one, not even yourself.”

Vague, formless fears cluttered her mind, leaving her unable to anchor herself to rational thought.

“Suck me!” he snarled, forcing her mouth open.

She just did not have the strength to fight. Resigned, she lowered her lips over the head of his penis and slid her mouth down the shaft. The heavy cape he wore seemed to swirl, enfolding her in a suffocating womb, cutting off all light and sound.

Gradually she moved her head up and down, blocking back a gagging sensation. She closed her eyes and worked her mouth around his firm flesh. Her movements increased until finally he swelled slightly, thrust once, and released a coppery-tasting liquid she forced herself to swallow.

He pulled her to her feet and she stood before him. His face had turned into a terrifying slab of stone, eyes dead and flat, like slate. He looked skeletal, shrunken, drained, the skin stretched tightly over his skull.

Silently they stared at one another for several seconds, and then he turned to leave.

Jeanette became aware of how calm she felt, and that amazed her. Shock must have replaced her tormented emotions.

Once she heard the door to the flat close, she lay down on the bed and spent the rest of that night thinking. And when the phone rang the next morning and Richard asked how she was doing, Jeanette heard herself saying, “I’m fine now The worst is over.”

“So you’ll live, then?”

“Oh yes. You can bet on it.”

CHAPTER FIVE

During the following week Julien’s early evening hours were spent arranging their move. Over the centuries, he had travelled often and had developed a routine for transporting his few, essential possessions. Just as a mist passing silently over the Thames late at night often goes unobserved, few would have noticed his arrival in London, let alone his departure. No, he would not be missed.

But Jeanette was a problem. Although she had no close living relatives, the fact that she was both a North American and wealthy made her visible. There might be media coverage, and then there were her many, many ‘friends’.

Julien formed a complex and intricate plan to remove her from the land of the living as quickly and quietly as possible. First he made two after-hours appointments, one with Jeanette’s attorney, the other with her doctor. Another evening he spent first stalking then chatting in a pub with London’s Chief Coroner. And the following evening he visited a mortuary where the proprietors were experts in life after death. By the end of the week he was nearly ready to reap his reward Jeanette too had been busy. That last night with him left her shockingly aware of what was happening. Of what he was.

Initially, she thought of confiding in her friends. They had all seen the marks on her neck, and commented on them. Maybe there was a chance they’d believe her. But the second she’d even hinted at the true nature of her situation, Richard was all over her.

“What then? You’ve been attacked by a werewolf? In London?”

“That’s not far from the truth,” she’d said.

“Oh, come now! Next thing you’ll be telling us you’re Vampyra. Alvin, bring this one a Bloody Mary, with real blood if you please! You’d do anything for attention.”

She knew it was too bizarre. No one would believe her. As always, she’d do it alone. But she was used to it. As long as Jeanette could remember, that’s the way she’d faced every crisis in her life, from the death of her parents and her only brother, to loss and betrayal in love and business. If there was a way to save herself, she was the one who would have to find it.

Jeanette decided that she needed all the information she could get about vampires, and fast. At the main branch of London’s library she borrowed every fiction and non-fiction book they had on the subject. What they didn’t have she found in abundance at the chain stores. There were so many volumes on vampires that she had to have the books delivered!

She also stopped at a video shop and picked up a dozen films, from Bela Lugosi and Christopher Lee portraying Dracula to the more recent silver-screen bloodsuckers. During the day she watched the films and read the books. But at night, before sunset, she headed for The Players’ Pub, and then par-tied until sunrise, with anyone, anywhere, as long as she was surrounded by a crowd of people.

Much of what she studied seemed a rehash of what was written before. It wasted her time, but she didn’t want to leave anything to chance. Some information, however, could be helfpul. She learned that vampires had been observed and documented in legend and mythology in almost every country since the earliest written records. Dracula, Bram Stoker’s classic, had been based on a real person, a fifteenth century warlord in Transylvania. Dracula, which meant ‘son of the Dragon’, was the title bestowed on Vlad Tepes, a cruel prince who ruled his country with an iron fist. He came to be called Vlad the Impaler because of his favourite means of torture, impalement on a wooden stake. This punishment he administered to countrymen and the Ottoman invaders alike. Tepes’ death was mysterious, and his body never found. This fed the imagination of the peasants who circulated stories that he was in league with Satan and able to come back from the grave.

Jeanette found a grisly female version, based on a far-removed cousin of Tepes‘. Countess Elizabeth Bathiory tortured and killed nearly seven hundred young girls because she believed that if she bathed in and drank the blood of virgins, she would stay young and beautiful. She was walled up in the tower of her castle until she died but, again, she became more of a mystery after death.

As Jeannette searched on, she found many more documented cases of modern day Vampires‘. Most fell into the psychotic serial-killer category-they drank their victim’s blood. There were also the pale-faced victims of erythropoieticprotopor-phyria, an illness that produces vampire and werewolf-like symptoms, or sufferers of pernicious anaemia, who were sometimes attracted to blood because their own red blood cells were depleted.

Jeanette made a list of the characteristics attributed to vampires, gleaned from mythology, fiction and film. Vampires were supposed to be dead bodies, unable to decompose. They slept in coffins during the day, lined with soil from their native land, although, she found one that used the soil of his homeland in his boots and could walk in daylight. At night they reanimated, roaming the streets looking for living beings from whom they would steal blood. A vampire could drain its victim, or take only a little blood, and many seemed able to live off animal blood, at least for a time. Some victims died and became vampires, others didn’t.

There were many ways to become a vampire, it seemed. An infant born with a caul over its face, or being the seventh child of a seventh child would do it. Also, red-headed persons were more likely to turn into the undead, as were people who committed suicide, or smoked on holy days!

When she had devoured the first stash, she went out and bought erotic vampire books and movies. One of the more interesting novels was The Darker Passions: Dracula. These direct references to vampires seducing their victims sexually were an eye-opener. Jeanette wondered if she had imagined the sexual part of her encounter with Julien—after all, vampires possessed the power to mesmerize. She decided she’d better stick with what she remembered as fact. It was all she had to go on. The least shred of doubt brought with it too much fear, turmoil and wasted time.

Now that she had a knowledge of the subject, she made a list of ways to protect herself, although the remedies didn’t make much sense, and they sometimes didn’t work. Garlic, crosses, wolfbane and holy water repelled vampires. They could be burned by fire, and a sure way to kill one was to drive a wooden stake through his heart, then cut off his head. Another method of dispatch was exposure to sunlight and the vampire would disintegrate. The best preventive measure offered was to never invite a vampire into your home in the first place, but she’d already made that mistake.

As well, a vampire could change into a bat, a wolf or even a mist. And, as she’d already experienced, they were seductive and possessed hypnotic powers.

Jeanette thought about everything she’d learned. Because the undead were as strong as ten strong men, she knew she couldn’t overpower Julien and hammer a stake into his heart. Maybe, if she could discover his resting place... But she had no clues. And when she asked around at The Players’ Pub, no one could remember him clearly—including the waiter Jimmy— and no one knew his address.

In the middle of all her plotting, Jeanette decided that since she was dealing with the supernatural she might as well consult the occult oracles. It certainly couldn’t hurt. This was something she hadn’t done in years—since her coven days, really—but like riding a bicycle, it all came back.

She threw the old Chinese coins of the I Ching and formed the hexagram K’UN/Oppression. The oracle told her:

The image of EXHAUSTION.

There is no water in the lake.

Thus the superior man stakes his life

On following his will.

The book went on to use the image of water flowing away and a lake drying up and becoming exhausted, and how that is an adverse fate, and there’s nothing to do but acquiesce, and stay true to yourself. This didn’t bode well, but she had always found the I Ching confusing so she tried the Tarot.

Nervously, Jeanette shuffled the cards of the Waite deck and lay five out in the pattern of a cross. A predominance of swords—aggression. That was unsettling! She read the positions as she had learned them. The Ten of Swords represented her—it depicted a dead body with ten swords imbedded in its back. It didn’t take a genius to see the obvious—ruin, despair, defeat in war. She’d always felt this card was grossly overdone, melodramatic.

The card to its right, the opposing force from the distant past, she took to be Julien, The Devil. The bottom position, emotional influences from the recent past, the Seven of Cups, meant dreams, delusions, self deception. The card to the left of centre, the reversed Three of Swords—a heart with three swords piercing it, indicated what might happen in the near future. That made no sense, so she consulted the divination book, which talked about a blocked healing process because acceptance was being avoided; pain would not disappear but linger and increase over time. But it was card number thirteen, a major arcana card representing the final outcome, that did her in. On a white horse sat a grinning skeleton holding a sharpened scythe—Death!

Despair nearly overwhelmed her. It was clear, from both oracles—did she have any chance of defeating him? But a deep and strong part of her, one seldom called-on, surfaced. She had to fight. It was more than a question of life and death.

Within a few days, Jeanette had a plan. She knew that he could only come for her at night, so she made Richard move in. He seemed perplexed by so much attention and joked, “Who would’ve pegged you as monogamous?”

For the first time in days Jeanette joked back. “The same person who believes you’re straight!”

From sunset until dawn Jeanette wouldn’t let Richard leave her side. She filled the apartment with braids of flowering garlic, hung crucifixes on the walls and kept a fire blazing in the fireplace. She wore a cross around her neck and insisted that Richard, an agnostic, wear one too.

Richard seemed to take it all in stride. He suggested she see a doctor about the marks on her throat, which weren’t healing all that well. But only once did he hint that she might want to make an appointment with a psychiatrist.

“Well, to think!” he said one morning over breakfast. “And here’s me, starting to love garlic in me orange juice!”

Jeanette laughed. “You know, I’m feeling terrific. Maybe I’ll go out shopping, or to the British Museum. I’ve been cooped up in here for days—I’m starting to hallucinate. Of course, it’s pure paradise being with you, Richard.”

She parted the curtains. The morning sky was dark and overcast, and thunder rumbled in the distance. “If you go, don’t forget your brolly,” he mothered her, dabbing his lips with a napkin and standing.

“Darling, you’re an angel. I don’t know what I’d do without you. Nobody else will put up with me.”

“That’s true, you know. But you’re not so bad. I’ve seen nuttier, like my aunt Jessie. You think you’ve got a fetish for crosses! That woman must have owned a dozen Last Rites kits. She was bloody prepared!”

He kissed her on the cheek, picked up his coat and umbrella and then headed for the door. “Well, some of us have to work for our pita bread. Oh, and by the way, luv, when I’m back tonight, let’s talk about that holiday you mentioned. We both need a bleedin‘ good rest. Maybe Mykonos. You know, the season’s not over yet. I’ll pop ’round the travel agency and pick up some brochures,” he called, shutting the door behind him.

Apparently the man leaving Jeanette’s flat was so absorbed in his thoughts that he did not notice Julien standing in the shadows of the hallway, wearing mirrored sunglasses, and dressed in a conservative suit and hat. But Julien saw Richard.

Once the outside door had shut, Julien moved soundlessly to Jeanette’s door. He used the key to enter, closed the dead bolts, pocketed the dark glasses, unbuttoned his coat and casually tossed his hat onto a nearby table. He knew he would find her at home. He had hoped to surprise her but didn’t expect to be surprised himself.

“Richard?” she called from the kitchen, turning off the radio and wiping her hands on her jeans. “Forget something?”

She stepped into the living room and stopped dead. Outside, the sky lit with lightning, illuminating the room, and thunder exploded overhead. No sunlight penetrated the captured skies.

The vampire stood before her, pallid and stoney. Her thoughts short-circuited as questions for which she had no answers flooded her brain. But one thought dominated: it was day and the books said he only came out at night!

As he moved towards her, she fumbled with the cross around her neck. Weakly she realized that the walls were plastered with crosses.

Instinctively Jeanette grabbed a Steuben vase filled with garlic bulbs and small white petals and threw it at him.

The vampire moved aside easily and the glass shattered against the wall.

She took advantage of a second in her favour and ran to the front door, desperately manipulating the two locks, which seemed the most complicated mechanisms she had ever encountered. But soon his palm lay flat against the door and the coolness of his body pressed up against hers and there was nothing to do but let her arms fall limply to her sides and turn.

His face was rigid. Only his eyes betrayed any emotion. Within the darkness smoldered a molten anger so lethal that Jeanette couldn’t believe he was able to control it. If he killed her then and there, at least she would have understood that passion motivated him. But she could not meet his gaze for long.

The vampire reached for her neck, and she cringed. But he merely took the tiny silver cross in his fingers. “A very beautiful nineteenth century piece, my dear. I had no idea you were so fond of antique jewelry. Where on earth did you find it?”

Savagely he ripped the chain from her throat.

Although his eyes were still blazing, he took hold of her arm gently and led her to the couch. “Come. Sit with me. There is much we must settle today, of a business nature.

Certainly you have matters you wish to attend to and I would be greatly pained to be the cause of any unnecessary delays in your so very important personal affairs.“

“What...what are you? It’s day time... the crosses! And the garlic. I thought... You are a vampire?”

The questions suddenly sounded crazy to her. Maybe I’m losing my mind, she thought. He’s obviously not a vampire but an extremely dangerous person. God, I must be mad, sitting here with a flesh and blood lunatic, bent on my destruction, and I’m treating him like a monster from a horror movie. It all seemed clear at last. She had a gun in her bedroom. She would kill him.

Jeanette tried to stand but he pressed her back down.

“Please. I just want to get a cigarette. Surely you’ll allow me that?”

He released her and she moved calmly through the living room to the bedroom and then to the dresser. She opened the top drawer and picked up the mink bag, removing the black and gold inlaid Bijan .38. Jeanette kept it loaded. She turned on him, firing six rounds into the body that walked steadily towards her. Each bullet tore a hole through his shirt but only seemed to stop him for a fraction of a second. Jeanette couldn’t believe her eyes.

As Julien reached her, the trigger clicked over and over, betraying an empty chamber. With one hand he took the gun away from her and examined it. At the same time he pressed the fingers of his other hand over the fresh bullet wounds. During the dark hours his body would expel the metal, and heal itself. But for now he must stop the loss of the blood that was so vital, especially in the daytime. He steeled himself against the pain that followed the shock to his flesh.

He hit her hard, knocking her to the floor. He knew he had to control himself or he might kill her. But he needed to teach her a lesson and quell rebellion. He also wanted revenge.

She scrambled across the floor, trying to crawl under the bed, but he dragged her to her feet and struck her again, sending her into the open armoire. Clothing spilled out, piling on top of her, but even before they could settle he grabbed her. He slapped her half a dozen times in such quick succession that she couldn’t get a sound out of her mouth.

And then he stood there, mesmerized by the blood dripping from her nose and mouth. The sight of it made him hungry. But it was daytime; he was incapable of feeding.

She doubled over, sobbing. He allowed her to cry mainly because the tears fascinated him. They seemed so alien. Searching his memory, Julien knew there must have been a time when he too had cried, many lifetimes ago. He tried to recall what feelings caused tears but could neither identify nor resurrect the emotions.

Forcing himself back to the present, he felt the gulf between them. A brief urge to be gentle, perhaps to bring her close, passed over him, but the desire was too obscure. Her rebellion infuriated him, and he only wanted to hurt her again.

He had expected a more imaginative defence. But soon she would be so terrified that even this play at defiance would cease. If she was incapable of loving him she would at least fear him. He would have her complete submission and, if necessary, instill terror in her to insure that control. But not now, not when he was at his weakest and most vulnerable.

But he looked forward to crushing her ultimately. He would break her will completely and she would belong to him mind, body and soul. He wanted her with him, under any conditions, and he would have what he wanted.

Jeanette cowered as he led her back to the living room. She could not believe how powerless she was. As he seated her again on the couch, she cried uncontrollably, convinced that no one could help her. She felt doomed.

From an inside coat pocket he removed several sheets of paper and laid them on the coffee table. “I have here certain documents which you will sign where indicated.” He pushed the papers across the table and then held out a pen. Afraid to cross him, she reached out and took the pen.

“What...what are they?” she sobbed, wiping her eyes on the sleeve of her sweater, suspecting he wouldn’t tell her.

“Ah, but you are a very clever businesswoman. No wonder you have amassed such a fortune. Shall I render a brief synopsis of what is contained therein?”

He paused, waiting for a reply, but Jeanette was silent.

“Before you is a new Will, and the necessary forms requesting preservation of your body, all of which I took the liberty of persuading your solicitor to draw up. The documents will be filed with the Courts immediately. The Will states, in brief, that upon your demise ninety per cent of your estate will come into my hands. Think of this as a dowry, if you like. The remaining ten per cent is bequeathed to a woman whom you do not as yet know. After taxes, debts and funeral expenses, of course.”

“If it’s money you want, you can have it. Look, I’ll give you as much as you want, just leave me alone. Please.”

He continued as if he hadn’t heard her.

“Because you are technically a citizen of the United States, a country where a devout disbelief in death has inspired much pioneering in the field of cryogenic research, no embalming fluids need be infused into your veins. Privately, I have made arrangements that permit the normal cryoprotectant agents to be dispensed with as well. Your body will simply be encased in a container that will be immersed in liquid nitrogen, after which the container will be transported to Vienna. There your remains are to be interred in burial vaults belonging to my family which lie outside the city, ostensibly until science is able to reverse the freezing process and reanimation is possible.

“In addition you will find a letter to your physician authorizing specific blood tests plus a note to be found after your demise. The legal documents contain several other, minor stipulations. If you wish, I shall review them.”

“You’re going to kill me?”

“Is that not obvious, my dear?”

“But why?”

“Because I want you.”

“You want me?” Jeanette repeated the words as though they were a foreign language. “Dead?”

He seemed amused. “In a manner of speaking.”

“But why? Why me? What have I done to you? Are you... No, you are a vampire, aren’t you?”

“By your archaic definition, yes.”

“But the flowers, the garlic flowers? And the crosses and the fire... They’re supposed to keep you away.”

“My dear,” he said, clearly annoyed, “you afford these no regard, why should I? I am as unthreatened as you are. It is rather a shame you have wasted so much time and energy in utterly fruitless endeavours. Most of what has been written about vampires, as you call us, is purely fictional, however amusing and entertaining the masses may find such. I suppose these fantasies provide your kind with an illusion of control when facing what is, in essence, uncontrollable. But then your time is your own to waste, for the present, anyway. However, my time is the more valuable. There are many details I must attend to. Now, if you would be so good as to sign the papers before you?”

But Jeanette could only stare at him in disbelief.

Julien walked to the window. Standing in the shadow of the curtains, he watched the storm’s heavy winds increase as if responding to his approach. Even this dim day proved annoying to his photo-sensitive eyes. Only intense control of his will allowed his body to function. Truly, he felt like the reanimated corpse of legend. He would need to retreat from the day, and soon.

Angrily he shut the blind and closed the drapes. “I can, if you desire it, substitute more persuasive methods for words. Perhaps that is what you would prefer?”

He could see from the look on her face that she was busy analysing and then discarding escape routes, and that she felt trapped.

“If you want me so much, why are you so brutal? Why drag this torture out? Why be so malicious?”

He walked to the couch, towering above her. Her words had affected him but he would not show her this. Now the words became sharp, stabbing.

“And why are you trying so hard to frighten me?” she demanded. “What macabre pleasure are you getting?”

He felt torn between wanting to be vulnerable with her and beating her senseless. “Sign the papers!”

She seemed oblivious to his volatile nature. “Not until you answer me!”

He felt cornered. His self-control and his control over her were chipping at the edges and he became frightened of her relentlessly probing mind which seemed to provoke his feelings and annihilate his control.

When the pressure inside him reached a crescendo, he lunged, strangling the words in her throat.

With her air cut off, Jeanette floundered. She alternated between struggling to pry his strong fingers loose and helplessly giving in to suffocation.

Suddenly he stopped, as impulsively as he had begun. She fell back onto the couch, gasping for air, but he refused to let her regain the edge. He snatched at her wrists, pulling her up.

“Perhaps you do not as yet appreciate the dire nature of your situation. You do not threaten your master. You obey, or suffer the consequences!”

He dragged her to the mirror, pushing her face close to the glass.

“You think you are in a position to defy me? It is already too late. Look at your teeth!”

Fearfully, Jeanette slowly opened her mouth. What she saw stunned her—her eye teeth had grown several centimetres. Horror spread through her and new tears welled from her eyes.

He shook her until her turbulent emotions were under control then moved her roughly back to the papers waiting for her signature.

“Sign them! Now!”

Almost delirious, she picked up the pen and, hardly able to keep her hand steady, signed every sheet where he pointed.

When she finished, he took the documents, glanced at each page, then returned them to his coat pocket.

“Good. There was no point in procrastinating, was there? One further piece of business and then we shall conclude our meeting.”

He pulled a metal container slightly larger than a cigarette case from his outer pocket, snapped it open, removed a hypodermic needle and a syringe and attached them. To the end of the syringe he connected an empty tube. He grabbed her hair, twisting her head back and to the side.

“I suggest you remain still. A ragged piercing might prove extremely painful.”

He plunged the needle into one of the wounds in her neck. Jeanette cried out as the surgical steel tip pierced her vein in a wound not even close to healed.

When the tube was full he removed it, inserted another and repeated the process until he had five vials of her blood.

“Is that for later?” she whimpered.

She watched him take a sixth vial of blood from his pocket. This was not her blood; even the colour was darker. He snapped it into the syringe and used the plunger to insert a drop into each of the five vials. Then he pocketed everything.

He stared down at her, and she trembled. He took one of her shaking hands in his and kissed the back, courtly-love fashion. The icy touch repelled her but he either didn’t notice, or didn’t care.

“My dear, you must trust me. I believe I know what is best for you, under the circumstances. But, of course, you will have ample time to learn that truth.”

Jeanette was terrified. She knew that now she had to tell Richard everything. She would make him believe her. Maybe he could help. Somebody had to help her.

Almost as if reading her thoughts, Julien stopped on his way out the door. “As for your paramour, I would strongly advise against confiding in him. In fact, I suspect his being here may prove fatal. For his sake, would it not be wise to terminate these tête-à-têtes?

“Have no fear, my love.” He picked up his hat and turned to her. “I shall see you again soon. Very soon.”

CHAPTER SIX

Richard breezed through the door. “What a day! What a day, I tell you! I need a bloody holiday and so do you, luv. I’ve been thinking, let’s run off together for a week or two or three. I’ve the time. We’ll go to Greece by auto, because of the strike. You like Greece, don’t you? Mykonos is my favourite island. It’s so gay there.” He giggled, dropping his coat, umbrella and several parcels.

“Oh! These are for you.” He stopped by the couch. With a theatrical flourish he presented Jeanette with a bouquet of roses, eleven red and one white.

Barely glancing at them, she reached out and took the bouquet.

“Sorry, luv. They’re only roses. They were all out of your faves. Not one bloomin‘ garlic flower in the shop. like a drink?” he asked, lighting a cigarette. But she didn’t bother replying.

“What now? You’re not feeling ill again? And what’s wrong with your face?” He sat next to her and touched the purplish swelling around her upper lip.

Jeanette pulled back. “It’s nothing. I fell, that’s all.”

He slipped an arm around her waist, trying to bring her close. “Well, you look anything but fine.”

“Please!” She stood and moved towards the window, bending to pick up a fragment of broken vase she’d missed. “Richard, I’ve been thinking too.”

“Well, that’s a right scary thought, isn’t it now.”

“I want you to leave. This isn’t working out.”

Obviously that wasn’t what he expected to hear. He took a deep drag on his cigarette but didn’t say anything.

She knew he was hurt and tried to soften it. “It’s not a good idea, you being here so much. I mean, I’m used to living alone, and so are you. It’s...crowded. I appreciate your staying with me the last while, but now I’d like you to go.”

Richard stood too. “Well, you’ve either gone completely balmy or you’re one of the most exploitive bitches I’ve run across.”

She let him rant.

“I hope to Christ Almighty, for your sake, it’s the former.” He paced the room fuming. “What in hell’s come over you? First you want me here, now you’re telling me to bugger off! If you’re in a snit over something, just let me know. We can patch it up.”

He walked to her and put his arms around her. “Luv, what is it? What’s wrong? If I’ve been an insensitive lout, you’ve only to tell me.”

She was afraid to say anything. Out of guilt, she submitted to the embrace.

As Richard held her, a hot flash ripped through her stomach and her attention became focused exclusively on his neck and the thick artery filled with blood. She found herself attracted, fascinated, and could almost see the blood forcing its way up from his steadily pounding heart. She had a strong urge to move close to the artery, to kiss and lick it, to feel its plump, sensuous movements. Her tongue tingled at the prospect, and delicately she touched the tip of her tongue to the skin. A shiver ran through her. I’d love to press my lips against the pulsing, she thought. I’d love to bite into it!

In horror, Jeanette shoved Richard away.

He stumbled backwards, got control of himself, looked at her briefly and then, without another word, grabbed his coat and left, slamming the door behind him.

We’ve had fights before, she reassured herself. He’ll be back. But she hoped not for a while, at least not until it was safe. But will it ever be safe again? she wondered.

Her mood, already at the edge, plummeted. It occurred to her to commit suicide. But she might become a vampire anyway. And maybe there was something worse, as he had insinuated. But could anything worse happen?

She tried to think about how to protect herself. The idea wasn’t well thought out but because only one came to mind she soon became obsessed with it. Maybe, if she could surround herself with enough people twenty-four hours a day, he wouldn’t be able to attack her again.

She grabbed her shoulder bag and coat and hurried out the door, running through the streets until she reached The Players’ Pub.

It was early evening, and hardly anyone she knew had arrived. She sat at the bar, close to the cash register, so that the barman or a waiter was always nearby.

“Tonic water.”

Jimmy looked surprised. “Tea totalling? At your age?”

Jeanette gave him a weak smile.

Soon familiar faces began to drift in and by nine the place was packed. She chatted with anyone and everyone and managed to keep a laughing group by her side. Richard entered about nine-thirty, looking tight and drawn. He strode past her as though she didn’t exist and she avoided him too.

As the night wore on, she ordered rounds of drinks, buying the company of friends and strangers alike. Eventually someone suggested that they head to Lorraine’s Cafe Blase, an after-hours club in Knightsbridge.

Jeanette felt fear creep inside her. How could she forget about the pub closing? With a frenzied animation she organized a party of thirty people and arranged their transport to Lorraine’s.

Alvin had a few grams of cocaine and she sniffed a couple of lines to keep alert. But I’ve got to sleep sometime, she reminded herself gloomily. After snorting another line, Jeanette concluded that she’d deal with that problem when she came to it. For now it was enough to be on the move, running from her nemesis.

She spent the rest of the long night drinking tonic water, sniffing coke and dancing until dawn. By then the crowd had thinned considerably, leaving only four weary stragglers.

As the cocaine, which had distracted her, ran out, fear descended. Suddenly she heard the grating sounds of traffic out on the streets. Jeanette abandoned Lorraine’s and headed into the blinding sunlight, walking on the heels of any groups of two or more early morning commuters.

Where will I go, what will I do with myself, she wondered? Anywhere but home where he might find her.

She headed down into a tube station and took the train to Piccadilly Circus, knowing there would be an abundance of tourists. For hours she wandered the streets, vacantly staring in windows, pretending to browse in shops and sitting restlessly in busy restaurants over cups of tea, trying to use up the endless morning.

Suddenly a plan struck that seemed as basic as the invention of the wheel. It’s so obvious I almost missed it, and she laughed out loud. She would leave the country and live under an alias. That way he would never be able to find her.

Jeanette grabbed a taxi to her bank and withdrew several thousand pounds, then headed for Regent Street. At a posh travel agency she punched a few buttons on an experimental computer terminal and waited to see what flights were available. The information on the monitor startled her. There would be no flights for at least a day. That was impossible! Quickly she pressed the buttons again but the same information came on screen.

She rushed to the counter where a fresh-faced girl smelling of Crabtree & Evelyn was busy poring over a travel brochure with a balding man in a tan safari jacket. Behind the counter two other agents chatted on the phone. After a few seconds Jeanette’s impatience soared and she interrupted, “Excuse me. I need help, and I’m in a hurry.”

The girl, smiling to hide her annoyance, said, “I’m just about through here. If you wouldn’t mind waiting for half a minute—”

“I can’t wait!”

The girl looked at her customer apologetically. “That’s quite all right,” he said stuffily. “I can wait.”

“Look, I’ve got to get out of London,” Jeanette said. “There’s a problem with that computer and I can’t find out what flights are available.”

“We’ve not much information in there,” the girl said. “It’s just a prototype of what’s to come—”

“Look, I need to see some timetables now.”

“Where would you like to go?”

“Anywhere. Anywhere at all. Just away from London.”

The girl gave the businessman a covert glance. He arched an eyebrow and Jeanette thought he muttered under his breath, “Bloody Americans!”

“I’m afraid I have to know where you want to go before I’m able to book,” the girl said patiently, too patiently, as if she were dealing with a child, or a lunatic.

“Anywhere!” Jeanette shouted. This wouldn’t do. The girl was already mumbling something about a supervisor. “The United States. Or Canada. Either one will be fine. New York, Toronto, San Francisco. Any of those cities.”

“Very well, madam. If you’d care to sit down for a moment, I’ll just make a few calls.”

But Jeanette stood at the counter, too frustrated to sit. She turned and stared out the large tinted plate-glass. A pale slender man wearing a dark suit strolled by and Jeanette gasped loudly. Everyone in the agency looked in her direction. When the man turned and Jeanette saw his profile, she breathed an audible sigh of relief.

The travel clerk returned and gave her the information. “There’s a flight out tomorrow at eight-thirty in the evening, leaving from Heathrow to Kennedy. And then, on Friday,—”

“Tomorrow? But I told you I want to leave today! Now!”

“I’m sorry, but these are the first available. And they’re not even definite, because of the service employee’s strike. It’s been in all the news. Anyway, if you’re interested in passenger ships, Friday at nine a.m. there’s a boat to—”

“Somewhere else then! China! Australia! Anywhere! But I’ve got to leave right away, do you understand me? I don’t care what it costs!”

Jeanette felt beads of sweat on her forehead. Her hands trembled. She grasped the counter for support, inadvertently leaning into the face of the agent, who looked frightened.

“May I be of assistance?” a soft-faced woman in her sixties interrupted gently. “Thank you, Emily. I’ll see to things.” The clerk turned back to her other customer.

“I’m Mrs. Simmons, the supervisor here. Why don’t we just pop round the corner, into my office. We’ll have a nice cup of tea and see what the problem is and try—”

Jeanette backed towards the door. I’ve got to get out of here, she thought. They think I’m crazy.

She ran for nearly four blocks, until her lungs ached and her head spun in the city’s afternoon haziness. She knew if she didn’t calm down, she wouldn’t get any useful information.

Before she entered the next agency she stopped to think about where to go. China and most of the east were out because they didn’t speak enough English, even in Hong Kong, and she might need to find help fast. France and the rest of the continent were too close. Australia, New Zealand, Canada and the United States were the only countries she could escape to and have a chance of blending in. The idea of being stuck on an island frightened her, so she ruled out the first two. Canada and the United States made the most sense.

She talked with another agent but was given the same information about the strike. She might be able to hire a private plane or helicopter. The agent gave Jeanette a list of thirteen names and a desk with a phone where she could make the calls.

Five numbers had answering machines and four more answering services, all asking for a return number, which she wasn’t prepared to give. Two lines rang and rang. One she connected to assured her nothing could be scheduled until next week. The thirteenth number was no longer in service. She also checked with two car rental agencies but, as expected, no cars were available. And even if she bought a car or borrowed Alvin’s-and that would take time—she knew she’d have a hell of a time getting out of England because of the immense traffic jams at the crossings. And she wouldn’t get far enough.

Jeanette decided to book the commercial flight to New York for the following evening. In the meantime she’d keep calling the private charters and hope for a cancellation.

She hadn’t eaten anything solid in almost twenty-four hours, but the thought of food repelled her. Instead she drank numerous cups of strong black tea and bland coffee, killing time until six in the evening, when she could return to The Players’ Pub.

Once she arrived, she began making calls again. She hadn’t wanted to give her home number because she had no intention of returning there and anyway she’d forgotten to turn on her answering machine. Jeanette realized that she could have given the pub’s number and mentally kicked herself, wondering why her brain wasn’t working well.

Out of the barrage of calls there were several possibilities for the weekend but nothing before the commercial flight. She’d just have to hold out for that, if the commercial flight left as scheduled. She was already falling apart from anxiety and exhaustion and didn’t know how she’d last. But she had to last, somehow.

Jimmy asked what she wanted and she said, “Cocaine.”

He glanced around and then offered in a low voice, “I can get you some, but don’t let on where you got it.”

Jeanette gave him four hundred pounds. Within an hour he handed her a brown paper bag containing several small pouches of white power, and a bundle of bills.

“Keep the change.” She waved him away and stuffed the bag into her purse.

Throughout the long hours she sniffed the coke to keep herself awake and alert. That night was spent much like the one before, the pub until closing, then Lorraine’s until dawn. The only difference was that Richard approached her.

“Come on, luv. Whatever it is, I’m sorry. Shall we make it up, then?” but she wasn’t up to a serious conversation, and turned away.

As the sun rose, Jeanette left Lorraine’s and headed for Hyde Park. Halfway there she changed her mind. There wouldn’t be enough people in the park yet. And the overcast sky promised rain.

She spent much of the morning at The National Gallery after which she sat in Trafalgar Square envying the pigeons their trouble-free existence.

She toured the Fleet Street area by bus and then wandered through the chic shops on Sloane Square in South Kensington, dazed. After that Jeanette rode the underground, the Circle line, for over an hour, then switched to the Central and, inadvertently, got off at her stop—Tottenham Court Road. She didn’t realize how near home she was until she emerged from the tube station. It was three o’clock, and pouring.

Frightened, she ran towards the nearest building, which happened to be The British Museum. The sign on the door said it stayed open until six. If I spend the rest of the afternoon here, until closing time, she reasoned, then I can go straight to the airport. If only I can hold out!

She was exhausted, and could hardly walk. She passed by the exhibits, barely glancing at the Rosetta Stone, totally ignoring the Elgin Marbles. All around were some of the finest treasures of the ages, but she felt oblivious.

She stopped briefly in the cafeteria for a ham sandwich but couldn’t eat more than half. Then, wearily, she picked herself up and began wandering the galleries she’d been through several times already that day. Once in a while she’d stop in a rest room and sniff more cocaine. The heart palpitations it produced became a new worry and twice she caught herself before fainting. Agitated and nauseous, every sound every movement sent shock waves through her hypersensitive body, as if the world were composed of a hundred ragged fingernails scraping a blackboard. She could hardly keep from screaming.

She thought about the risks involved in phoning Richard, but it seemed innocuous enough and, since she was leaving, she felt she owed him that much.

She dialled his number and his machine clicked on. This week it was a clever imitation of Carol Channing’s voice. “Hi there! Richy isn’t in right now. He’s probably out being a naughty boy again. But I know he’d just love to chat you up, er, make that chat with you. Why don’t you leave your name, number and age and he’ll give you a ring when he can. Wait for the tone, darlings! Bye, bye now!”

When the message ended, Jeanette faltered. “Richard...you’ll never guess where I am...the British Museum. I’m...I...” It’s no use, she thought. There’s nothing to say.

She hung up.

Suddenly, like Death’s grim sickle, a hand pressed itself onto her shoulder. Jeanette jumped around to see an elderly security guard with a serious expression on his face.

‘“Scuse me, missus, but we’re about to lock up here. The chimes sounded half past. If you’d be good enough to make your way to the main exit.”

“Yes. Of course. I’ll just stop in the ladies room first, if that’s alright?”

“Don’t be long. Wouldn’t want to spend the night ‘ere, now, would we.”

“I won’t,” she called, hurrying down the corridor towards the door marked Ladies.

Excitement rushed through her. Freedom was close at hand. My thoughts will be that much clearer with just a pinch more coke, she told herself, then she’d grab a taxi to Heathrow and, board the plane. By tomorrow morning her life would be back to normal. She heard a sound and turned to stare at the haggard woman behind her, who had somehow entered the washroom unnoticed. Jeanette realized in horror that it was her own reflection in the mirror.

Suddenly she felt the floor give way. She slipped down into a deep well of liquid darkness that quickly closed around her, blocking out all sight, sound and sensation.

When Jeanette finally came to, her brain was sharp and, clear. She opened her eyes right away. Blackness. Silence. Am I really awake? she wondered. It occurred to her that she might be blind.

She tried to rub her eyes, only to discover that her wrists were locked together. So were her feet.

No, this can’t be, she thought reasonably. I must be dreaming.

She tried to open her mouth but it was securely taped shut. A gruesome realization hit—I’m buried alive!

Hysteria overwhelmed her. She thrashed around, screaming, but the tape muffled the sounds. She banged her head against something hard and hollow-sounding until a splitting pain shot through her cranium which made her stop what seemed pointless anyway.

Finally she lay still, trembling, trying to breathe evenly through her nose as waves of terror raced through her. Tears spilled from her eyes, which caused her nose to fill with mucus making it harder to breath. That alone forced her to struggle for equilibrium. The macabre thought came: at least this is the end. Soon I’ll be dead. A day, a week, maybe. She almost welcomed the idea. The torment had been so intense that extinction seemed her only hope of release. She just prayed that death would free her!

Out of the silence came a sound. Jeanette held her breath and listened. It grew louder, then stopped. Now a different sound. A creak, very close. Bright light burst in, blinding her momentarily, and she squeezed her eyes shut. But as the searing pain in her optic nerve subsided, Jeanette became afraid to open her eyes again. Involuntarily, her eyelids fluttered.

She was not in the least surprised to see the vampire glaring down at her.

CHAPTER SEVEN

Julien silently stared down on her for a long time before unlocking the metal from her ankles and ripping the tape from her mouth.

Neither said a word as he lifted her out of the ancient Egyptian sarcophagus lying on a low platform in the middle of an otherwise empty room.

He took one of her still-bound arms and led her out the door. They passed an unconscious security guard, the one who had told her to leave the building.

They walked at a moderate pace along a dimly-lit corridor, up two dark staircases, down another hallway and then finally entered an open doorway into a lightless room. There he left her standing alone while he turned on the lights.

The moment the room became illuminated, she saw that they were in a storage area cluttered with relics. She should have been astonished but it made little difference to her where she was, whether she was awake or asleep, alive or dead. She felt jaded, immune to any new horrors, and waited patiently for her fate to unfold.

When she heard the door close behind her, she turned to face him as the doomed might look to the executioner.

He took her arm again and directed her to one corner. “Since you are apparently fascinated with museums, I imagined you might enjoy a private tour. The public is generally not permitted here, but yours is a special case, and an exception has been made.”

They paused before a large carton from which Julien picked out an object made of discoloured metal. He studied it carefully then presented it to her for inspection. “Have you seen anything quite like this before, my dear?” His tone was matter-of-fact, two ordinary museum visitors viewing an ancient artifact.

“It was known as The Girdle of Venus or The Florentine Girdle. It is a common misconception that the chastity belt was invented during the Crusades. Actually, it appeared much later. In 1552, the year in which I was born, it was the fashion with European nobles to employ this device while travelling, or fighting in a war, and there were always wars to be fought. A lord would lock the thing to the pelvis of his lady, or mistress. As you can see in this particular model, there is but one long, narrow opening. The teeth prevent both vaginal and anal penetration. The nobleman carried the key on his journeys, thus prohibiting his woman from betraying him, either by her consent or otherwise. If he died in battle...”

He dropped the belt back into the carton without elaborating, took Jeanette’s arm in a leisurely manner and said, “Come. There is much more to experience.”

An obelisk of wood stood in a corner, the top chiselled to a point. Above it, suspended from the ceiling, she saw a leather collar, with many ropes and wires attached. “Between the 15th and 17th centuries,” he said, “Europeans called this the Judas Cradle. The victim hung from the collar and usually cuffs. He or she was lowered until poised, the sharp point about to pierce the anus or vulva. More questions, more answers, but eventually the unfortunate descended until impaled.”

They stopped at what appeared to be the frame of a narrow wooden ladder resting on supports three feet above the floor. At each end there were levers, and a roller with worn leather straps attached.

“The rack, or le chevalet, as we French termed it. Used primarily during the Inquisition which, by the way, only officially ended in 1809. The accused was bound at both ends. The rollers wind away from one another, stretching the joints until they are pulled out of their sockets. The limbs were eventually torn completely from the body.”

He turned to face her. He looked calm. Relaxed. As pale as the dead. “This instrument of torture was employed to elicit confessions of treason, heresy or even as a punishment for personal betrayal, although, of course, many died for seemingly no reason at all.”

As he glanced at the rack again, Julien’s vision became hazy. His mind bridged the gap of years to a time long ago.

“I once observed my father take a serf from our village and have him stretched and broken, limb from limb, leaving only a bloody torso which refused to die. My father then had the man’s eyes and rectum burned out with searing irons, reviving what was left of him. And finally in, I suppose, a rare gesture of charity on my father’s part, he offered the coup de grace by pouring boiling oil over what remained, ending that particular life. I was eight years of age at the time I witnessed this. It was to become my legacy.”

He forced himself back to the present. “I believe my father did that for no reason other than to satisfy a whim.”

Jeanette thought she saw traces of pain in his face but before she could be sure he moved her on, explaining in intricate detail the workings of gallows, guillotines, stocks, the wheel, iron maidens and other apparatus gathered from around the world.

She took in the information calmly, aware he was working to frighten her, and break her spirit. But she had gone so far now that she almost felt relieved. Whatever diabolical plan he had in mind would be lost on the zombie she had become.

At the conclusion of his chamber-of-horrors tour, he led her from the room, back along the dark passage and into another room, this one fully lit. A sixteenth century bed chamber. The furnishings, Germanic in style, were sparse, square and simple in design, dark and heavy, making the room feel oppressive.

“What are you going to do? Rape me again?”

He looked amused, as though the idea were absurd. “Rape? My dear, you flatter yourself, and do me a disservice. If I am not mistaken, rape is an act perpetrated against an unwilling party. Between you and me,” he said, stroking her hair, “such is not the case.

“But you are confused. And as you seem in a compliant mood, I suppose it is best to enlighten you. After all, our process is near completion and your cooperation can only hasten the preordained outcome.

“As you are no doubt aware, you are slowly transforming into a vampire, for lack of a more suitable term. When I first drew your blood, had I taken it all, you would simply have died a quick death. However, I re-circulated a portion of that blood through my body and back into yours. The blood that reentered you contains my cells, which, while not entirely human, are not completely alien. My cells are a unique composite, a cross between homo sapiens and vegetation and more. My cells are dominant. They have, by now, infiltrated, either destroying your cells or causing a mutation affecting your immune, nervous and circulatory systems, bone and muscle structures, and particularly your brain. In short, your body has now changed sufficiently so that, upon your demise, you will be as I am.”

Jeanette listened as though he were a lecturer giving an anatomy lesson. She accepted the news calmly because it confirmed her suspicions. “So, why haven’t you killed me yet? Or left me to die a natural death?”

He stepped away from her and stopped before an ancient tinny-looking mirror affixed to the wall. He peered into the severely blurred surface as though searching for his reflection. “I have existed on this earth for just over four hundred years. During those years I have experienced many things, travelled the world several times, and feasted on the blood of nearly a quarter of a million living creatures. In all those centuries, with but two brief exceptions, I have been alone.”

He stared into a spot about eye level. His own truths seemed to move him as if he were listening to a stranger pour out his heart.

Jeanette sat down on the edge of the bed. “There must be others like you. Or you could have made them.”

“Of course there are others!” He turned on her, seemingly annoyed that his train of thought had been disrupted. But the anger quickly dissolved, and he faced the mirror again. “There are many others. I have met with hundreds, most created after me, a few before my time, and those who I myself have infused with this condition.

“It was early in the seventeenth century when I first began to search out those such as myself. Much of what I encountered were dim-witted peasants, the dregs of society, the careless creations of those who gave no thought to what they did. On rare occasions I met peers who taught me or were instructed by me. Together we measured the scope of our powers and expanded the parameters of our understanding. But after a time we parted or were separated by circumstance. The nature of most vampires, as you call us, is not conducive to companionship. However, my own nature retains fundamental needs and desires which I have carried from life into death and back into life again. My essential nature is sensitive.”

He paused briefly, as if considering all that he had said. “I discovered that my nature invariably kept me apart from most others of my kind. These were characteristics I could not share with many.” He faced her again.

“I began to realize some two hundred years ago that I would need to create what I desired so intensely. I have searched for an equal and, until recently, had not encountered one.”

“Equal? Are you talking about me? You’ve got to be kidding!”

He folded his arms across his chest and stared at her coldly. “Perhaps I should clarify. You, my love, have the capacity to become an equal. But initially you must learn the complexities of submission. One cannot comprehend equality until one understands inequality. And you appear to have experienced neither. The foundation of your compressed world is the safe, the secure, the familiar. You attempt to disguise this with a superficial show of non-conformity and yet your inability to tolerate all but what is bland and redundant betrays you, leaving you undefined. But with the proper administration of discipline, together we shall crack that impenetrable foundation, exposing the vulnerability beneath.”

She felt too confused to even be as frightened as she knew the situation warranted. But it didn’t really matter because he seemed oblivious to her feelings, almost unaware of her.

“In order to survive, the companion I choose must have a will which, unlikely as it might appear, you do possess. It is the one element that all the others I have created lacked. If you could see how mortals greet Thanatos, you would know whereof I speak. Many are drugged or asleep, unaware that the great event of their own death is occurring. The common man and woman are as insensitive to death as they are to life. Let me tell you a story in order that you may better understand.

“The land in Tibet is rough and mountainous, providing little soil. Because of this, it has been the custom there for centuries to tie the dead to posts in clearings used as cemeteries. During the night hours animals, particularly wolves, come down from the mountains and eat the corpses. A unique method of disposal.

“Over the centuries, and up until fifty years ago, Buddhist monks of that country periodically conducted a ceremony they call Chod. Willing initiates gather in one particular area and for several days fast and meditate until the time is right. Then those who feel called are led to the cemetery and bound, both wrists and ankles, and hung with the dead. Each is given a bell to hold and nothing more.

“During the night, when the wolves come, these men frantically ring their bell and cry out, attempting to frighten the scavengers away. But as the dark hours wear on, the wolves become fearless. Exhaustion and helplessness overcome some initiates, others are seduced into sleep, and still others embrace a quiet acceptance of their fate.

“In the morning, when the old monks return, they find many are dead or mutilated. Those who still live are mad. But on rare occasions one is found who is enlightened.

“I have searched for one such as myself, sensitive to both life and death and willing to openly embrace either. You, my dear, are that one.”

A heavy silence hung between them as Jeanette turned his words over in her head. They seemed contradictory. “Look,” she finally ventured, “if I’m the one you want, there’s no reason for all this intimidation. And why have you kept me alive? I just can’t understand. You could have killed me the first night we met. Why wait? Are you just sadistic? Obviously I can’t fight you and win.”

“Ah,” his face lit as he listened, “I know this to be true, but you,” and he approached her, cupping her chin in his hand, “you, my love, have only begun to accept this reality. If memory serves, until yesterday you resisted me. I believe you had purchased air passage to the United States of America, and had been avoiding your residence. Not to mention Monsieur Richard, and those vile garlic flowers. My dear, far from acquiescing to my wishes, you have proven yourself a rebel. And while I respect and even desire this characteristic in you, ultimately I do not choose to share eternity with one so enamoured of the role of advocating for devils that she might be enticed to the side of an enemy. What you are in life, so you shall be in death, perhaps more so.”

“But this doesn’t make sense! You’ve had so many chances to kill me. I don’t know how many times I’ve felt crushed and defeated. You must have seen that. Why be so brutal?”

The look on his face was nothing but patient, which stirred up her hope. If she could just keep a dialogue going....

“Humanity has devised infinite forms of brutality, the least violent amongst them being physical. I have experienced them all and learned my lessons well. I realize it is difficult for you to comprehend. You are still largely mortal and think with a mortal’s mind. And I am not as you are. You know yourself that you would not willingly have come with me. In fact, if you were to die now, this very moment, you would not join me. You are still too stubborn. Like all the others I have created, you would wish to retreat into the solitude of your existence.

“No, you would never join me of your own accord, which I, naturally, would prefer. With my powers I could easily gain control of your mind. Your thoughts are already clear to me. I could stalk you as a hunter in tune with his prey and, to some extent, have done just that. I know your fantasies and become them. But to conquer in this manner alone would ultimately prove pointless. No, my dear, I want all of you. Unfortunately, for us both, you must die enslaved. It appears that even fear is new to you. Well, so be it. Perhaps, at some point, when you have become more comfortable with fear, you may be capable of other emotions; that is a risk which I am willing to take. And be assured, my love, I shall do all within my power to force you to the borders of terror.”

He laughed suddenly. “Fortunately my nature is despotic as well as sensitive. Perhaps the era that sired me. And, too, you bring out the worst in me. When I wake you from death you will be my slave for eternity. Although this is not my first choice still, something is far better than nothing.” His last words were hard, betraying the isolation and loneliness he felt.

Abruptly, as if propelled by these deep emotions, he moved away from her to the desk beneath the mirror. He removed his black jacket, folded it neatly, placed it carefully on top of the desk and then unbuttoned the top three buttons of his shirt. When he was finished he opened a drawer and took out an object she could not see, and placed it onto the desk. He turned to face her again, rolling up his sleeves. His face was hard.

Jeanette said in a small voice, the tone that of a desperate child, “Look, what if I agree to let you turn me into a vampire?”

His full lips parted and a humourless feral grin broke across his features. From where she sat she could see the points of his eye teeth glisten. “No, my love, you cannot consent. You have no desire to join me. It is your self-delusion manifesting in the extreme. In truth, your deepest longings are to be free of me. To be free of anything and everything which threatens you with yourself.”

He moved towards her as he spoke. “Perhaps I see you better than you are able to see yourself.”

It wasn’t until he was near that it registered what he held: a worn black leather handle with nine thin strands of hide attached to it. He shook the whip, unravelling the strands, then separated them with his fingers as if he were running his hands through hair. About two feet in length, each strand was knotted in several places. In spite of herself she gasped.

“No, I want no rebels with me,” he told her, flicking the whip into the air. The sound of snapping leather cut through her remaining calm. “Your fighting spirit, yes, but not turned against me, used together with my own. This is why I have not taken your life as yet. You are still too filled with insurrection.”

He took a key from his pocket and bent to unlock her wrists. “But, perhaps we can correct this defect in your character. Take off your clothing!”

The iciness of the command froze her.

He grabbed her blouse, pulling her to her feet. “You see?” he shouted, enraged. “Still you are disobedient. I am your master! If I choose to whip you, I expect you to submit. Do as you are told!”

The intense hatred blazing in his eyes frightened her to the core of her marrow. Her body shook uncontrollably, and involuntarily her teeth clicked together. It took all of her nerve to say, “No! If you want to torture me I probably can’t stop you. But I’m not going to help you, you son of a bitch!”

His hand flew up and struck her across the face. A malevolent grimace crept across his features, fully exposing the long sharp fangs coated with saliva. His dark eyes appeared to have taken on a red tinge. More than anything he looked rabid.

He ripped the clothes from her savagely then shoved her face-down onto the hard bed. “You will shortly beg me to take you!”

The whip landed full force across her bare back. The strands must have left nine red lines in their wake and, where they were knotted, it felt as if lumps of flesh had been torn from her.

The leather ripped through her again, and Jeanette awoke once more to physical pain. She clutched at the bedspread and bit her lower lip until she tasted blood, trying to distract herself from the searing pain that kept coming. She screamed out her anguish until her throat turned raw, but he did not stop. The whip sliced her skin as though it were paper. She felt as if the talons of a vicious bird-of-prey were tearing the flesh right off her bones.

He beat her savagely, with a vengeance inspired by his own pain, which seemed timeless and unlimited. Each blow brought the fury that raged in him closer to the surface and he could not have stopped himself. Years of agony washed over him, blotting out other emotions. He only saw the crimson blood, which aroused his appetite. He heard the rhythmic sounds of leather cracking against wet flesh, driving his tormented soul on, hoping for release. Her screams were his own screams, and at first he could not comprehend her words.

“Stop! Please! I’ll do anything, anything. I’ll go with you, do anything you want, anything you say!”

His arm halted in midair. Jeanette still cried out, “Anything! I’ll do anything you want!” But it wasn’t her pleas which moved him. He crawled up her body, crouching over her, licking the warm, sweet blood from her back like an animal, savouring it, flicking his tongue over his teeth and lips. “Beg me to take you!”

Hysterical, she responded immediately, “I beg you! Yes, please take me. Please! Whatever you want.”

Delighting in this victory, he demanded, “But from you I require the auto daft. You must prove to me that you want this, you want me.”

Instantly she cried out, “Yes, yes, I want you! I want you to take me! Please! I want you. Anything.”

He jammed his knee between her legs, spreading them.

Jeanette sobbed loudly, reciting what he wanted to hear.

“Should you attempt falsehood, I shall know it and punish you more severely.” He probed her anus. The orifice dilated immediately, and he placed the head of his erection at the opening.

“Beg me!” he hissed. The desire to hear her words fanned his arousal.

“I beg you!”

She screamed as he penetrated the narrow passage but she received him almost willingly. “Yes! Yes!” she cried insanely, “Please. I want it, I want you! Please, take me with you!”

His pace quickened. The desire for blood mingled with the lust for power and overwhelmed him. He went for her neck, piercing it rapidly. He drank greedily, letting the red gore spill over his lips and run down his chin as he released a little blood into her.

When it was all over he lay beside the barely living woman who mindlessly moaned the same words again and again. Both were saturated in her now cold, slimy vitae. He stroked her matted hair and spoke soothingly. “Have no fear, my love. When next I come you will join me. And that shall be soon. Very soon.”

CHAPTER EIGHT

Jeanette awoke to semi-consciousness. She was alone in her flat, in her bed.

It had been no dream. Her tortured body had gone numb and weak. She lay still, breathing shallowly, knowing she was dying.

Her thoughts drifted and floated over memories, people she had known, places she had been. Some meaningful, others insignificant, all plucked at random from the story that had been her life. A story coming to an end.

She found little emotion attached to the recollections and did not attempt to form any conclusions. Jeanette simply used the memories to fill the time as if she were daydreaming while waiting for a journey to begin.

Hours seemed to pass, and then he was with her. She did not fear him now. What he did no longer mattered because her role had transformed from active participant into that of an observer.

He spoke to her soothingly, gently, like a lover, his tone cherishing. He knelt beside the bed and stroked her hair, her face, kissed her, whispered words that filled her experience.

“Soon, my love, you will join me. Do not be afraid as the life drains from you. Shortly you will awake to a dimension of which few can conceive, and far less know. Everything will be yours and you will be invincible, even as I am. And, my love, you will not be alone. I shall be with you always.”

His words conjured up no images. She listened, letting them swirl through her tired mind and exhausted body.

“Retain awareness as long as you are capable of doing so. For your own sake, remain awake until you can fight the sleep no longer.”

He turned her head as he spoke. He parted his lips. She watched as the sharp needle-point teeth found their way by instinct to the familiar wounds.

Jeanette stared at the walls around her hardly feeling the points piercing the openings and pushing their way once again through partly healed flesh. Placidly, she listened to the sounds of the vampire swallowing the remainder of her life.

Her eyes grew heavy. Thoughts faded like daylight. Weakness and exhaustion closed in on her. She fought to remain awake but each effort produced a shorter span of consciousness.

She seized for the last time sensations, stimulated by the world outside her skin. And then she floundered, sinking into a murky bottomless ocean of oblivion from which she knew she would never return.

Julien sucked harder. The end was near and his ecstasy greater than he could have imagined. The thick liquid oozed out of the vein in ever weaker spurts and he clutched her body, holding it to him in a passionate embrace.

As he took the final traces of her mortal existence into himself in the distance he heard a sound. It reminded him of a bell ringing, pealing louder and louder. Soon it reverberated through him, so intense the sensation forced him back and away from her.

Impossible! She was dead! Horrified, he stared at the corpse before him, pale, lifeless, heavy.

But the sound continued. It was Jeanette’s voice. And she was screaming, “No!”

CHAPTER NINE

“No, no, Prissy, she’s not freeze-dried!”

“Well, Richard, you’ll have to explain it all to me again. I’m not particularly scientific, you know.”

Julien stood at the back of the room in the funeral home listening to the last three mourners who had come to say farewell to Jeanette. He believed in funerals. It was the only way to convince mortals of the reality of death.

Richard sighed. “It’s called cryonic suspension, or some bloody term, and all they do is freeze her and then try to revive her later, when they’ve found a cure.”

“It’s well below zero, luvy. Minus 196 degrees Celsius, to be exact,” offered the man named Alvin, a slightly younger, slimmer version of Richard.

“Well, I think it’s appalling,” the woman said. She had the tall and square-shouldered stature plus the accent of the British upper class. She picked a piece of lint off her inky Chanel suit. “It’s a mystery why Jeanette did this. She never mentioned these bizarre plans to me, and I am her best friend, after all. Or, I should say, was.” She dabbed at her eyes with a lacy handkerchief.

“We were all her best friends, Puss,” Alvin corrected.

“She was acting right ‘round the bend lately,” Richard added. “But I suppose that’s to be expected. The Coroner himself told me the syphilis probably took hold of her brain.”

“How ghastly! I didn’t even know she was infected,” the woman named Priscilla said.

“They found a note she left,” Alvin added, “saying she’d caught it and they’ve the blood test results from her doctor so they didn’t bother with an autopsy. I hope we’re all safe.”

Priscilla turned her head sharply and gave him a severe look. “Is there some question of that, Alvin?”

“Of course not, lambie. I was only speculating.”

“Well, it’s all very peculiar,” Priscilla said, standing. “A new Will, this whole freeze-dried business—”

“Cryonics,” Alvin corrected.

“—and sending her body to Austria, of all places! I didn’t know she’d ever been to Austria, let alone knew an Austrian well enough to designate as her main beneficiary. Does anyone know this Austrian?”

The two men shook their heads as they got to their feet.

“At least her pain is over. Maybe she’s happier now,” Richard offered. “She does look peaceful.”

“Don’t be daft!” Priscilla snapped. “Would you be happier dead? This is becoming awfully morbid. Let’s be off, shall we?”

“Good idea,” Alvin answered.

“You two go on ahead. I’ll see you at the pub later. Oh, and tell that divine young French lad, Francois, I’ll be along directly.”

After they had gone, Richard stood by the coffin staring at Jeanette. “Well, ducks, it’s hard to believe you’re beyond the veil,” he told her. “You look splendid, even more than when you were living. But I suppose that was the illness.”

“She is ravishing.”

Richard spun around, startled. Obviously he’d been unaware that anyone else was in the room.

Julien approached the coffin and stopped. Inside the cryonics cylinder lay Jeanette’s body. He’d had her dressed in the scarlet Victorian gown, her ruby and pearl jewelry, and the beaded boots. Most of her rich white-gold hair was piled elegantly on top of her head, but a few strands lay artfully curled over her neck and shoulders. Within an hour of her demise all the wounds, marks and bruises had disappeared from her body, a further indication that the change was successful.

She rested inside the clear plastic, itself seventy percent encased by an air-tight metal container. Nearby a small compressor hissed, pumping into the metal the liquid nitrogen which would keep her frozen until Julien woke her.

He leaned forward and placed a bouquet of garlic flowers on top of the plastic.

“Excuse me. Do I know you?” Richard asked. “I can’t quite place you.”

Julien only partially turned in his direction. “I think not, unless, perhaps you have some interest in hybrids.”

“Oh!” Richard said. But he seemed more startled by the appearance than by the response. The look on Richard’s face suggested that perhaps corpse and viewer should change places. “No, that’s not it. But I’m certain I’ve seen you before. Did you know Jeanette well?”

“In a particular context. Business, if you will.” Julien turned towards Richard and looked deeply into his eyes.

Richard yawned. “So sorry. It’s been a long day. You sold her plants or flowers, then?”

“One might conclude that I am responsible for her interest in garlic flowers. As you are no doubt aware, she seemed to have a passion for them.”

Richard, as if in a trance, suddenly turned and walked out the door.

“They’re so like children, aren’t they?” came a lyrical voice from behind Julien. “Longing to converse with death, yet no matter what form he takes, they refuse to acknowledge his presence. And we have taken on the role of the dark angel, guarding their frightened souls, soothing their troubled minds, trying our best to protect them from their shadowy selves. I’m often astounded that they consider us a threat.”

“Poetically put, Gurteg,” Julien smiled.

“Thank you, my old friend. I’m partial to poetry. And poets. I find their blood more stimulating.” The young Indian man laughed. He walked around the coffin until he and Julien faced each other. “The shippers are here to take her to the airport. Is everything settled?”

“Yes. The private pilot you recommended has been retained. She will arrive in Vienna before me.”

“I’m impressed by the attention you give to details. It’s getting more and more difficult to transform them, particularly when they’re in the public eye, as she was. Cryogenics is the only process above the embalming laws. Of course, it’s just the foolish dream of science. The dead can never be resuscitated. Maybe, if the body is frozen prior to death... But that’s an ethical question for the mortals to debate. But for now regeneration is impossible. As you well know, human cells, like water when it’s frozen, crystallize and expand and, in the warming process, explode. Only our kind, with our unique cell structure, can survive such extremes and repair the damage.”

“I commend you, Gurteg. Although your pursuits are not ones I would choose, I see that they bring you contentment.”

“They fill the time between Kaellie’s visits. And I really enjoy working with death. It gives me constant insights into my own condition.”

“You’ve changed,” Julien commented, amused by the grey patterns of artificial colour in the younger man’s hair.

“Yes. We’ve been here long enough that we have repeat customers—not the deceased, naturally, but their relatives.

They force me to age. Soon we’ll have to move on.“

Julien nodded in understanding. Both vampires found themselves staring silently at Jeanette.

“She is unusual,” Gurteg said.

“Yes. Perhaps this one...” but Julien left it unfinished.

“The sleeping beauty, waiting for the black prince to awaken her to the dark passions.”

“‘If you saw me perhaps you would fear me, perhaps adore me... But all I ask of you is to love me. I would rather you love me as an equal than adore me as a God.’”

“Eros and Psyche. A beautiful love story with a happy ending,” Gurteg said, placing the metallic lid over the clear plastic. He took a ratchet from behind a screen and bolted down the lid, placing a padlock into the available slot, locking metal to metal. He handed the key to Julien. “You’re still so tortured. It’s painful to see.”

“Gurteg, you are not alone. You cannot know.”

“That’s true, in one sense. But Kaellie is different. We are different. Neither of us is the way we once were and we keep changing. But you understand how it is with our kind.”

Julien understood only too well.

He turned to leave but before he could go Gurteg embraced him. “You know I wish you well. I hope you find release.”

LIFE AFTER DEATH

“Revenge, at first though sweet,

Bitter ere long back on itself recoils.“

—John Milton Paradise Lost

CHAPTER TEN

“Odd place,” the short chubby man in his mid-fifties mumbled to himself as he knocked on the great oak doors of the medieval castle. “Likes his privacy. But that’s not my business.”

Julien had watched his attorney’s approach. Even before the little man started up the cinder path from the road where he’d left his car to the vampire’s ancestral home, Julien’s sensitive ears had been irritated by the inane chatter.

As one of the arched doors opened, the rusted iron hinges creaked out a warning. The attorney’s eyes widened. A chilly gust of wind swept down the mountain to the north, nearly blowing him through the doorway. He wrinkled his nose as if noticing an unpleasant odour wafting along the night air and peered intently into the opening until he spotted someone standing there.

“Ah,” the lawyer beamed, pulling himself to his full height. “I am Herr Klinger, attorney to Count de Villier. I’ve come all the way from Vienna to see the Count on urgent business.”

“What is the nature of your business?” the vampire demanded.

Herr Klinger, obviously affronted, pulled himself up even straighter. “The matter is private. I want to see the Count personally. Kindly announce me.”

“I am de Villier.”

Klinger’s face dropped and his eyes widened again, but he took possession of himself quickly, apologizing profusely. “Ah, well, uh, excuse me sir. I had no idea. But then, I haven’t had the pleasure of meeting you before. Naturally I thought you were a servant. But, uh, that was quite a foolish assumption on my part. You’re obviously not a servant, ha ha. But it’s an understandable mistake, isn’t it? After all, wasn’t it the great Shakespeare who said, ‘To err is human, to forgive divine?’”

Julien remained in the shadow of the doorway, impatient with Klinger’s absurd babbling. Julien, passing himself off as his own son and grandson, had retained three generations of the loquacious, boring Klingers for legal services. Each Klinger had proven himself discrete, each had named his heir Gustav, and each, in his own way, was a fool.

“Ah, well,” the attorney courageously continued, “Let’s try this again. Let me reintroduce myself. I am Gustav Klinger, your attorney.”

At the sound of his own name, Klinger’s face brightened. He extended a hand, which Julien ignored. Slightly unnerved, the attorney withdrew his hand.

“I’m delighted to find you at home, sir. Maybe I should have written, but the matter is, as the famous Mr. Sherlock Holmes was so fond of saying, ‘a singular one’, and I took it upon myself to bring you the news personally. I hope you’ll pardon the intrusion at this late hour. May I come in for a few minutes?”

“No, you may not!”

“Uh, yes, well, it is late. Again, I apologize for the inconvenience.” He squinted through the doorway, trying to catch a better glimpse of who was inside, but the blackness could not be penetrated.

“Why are you here?”

Herr Klinger rubbed his hands together, looking partly embarrassed and partly cold. “It’s good to get right down to business. Saves time. As the old adage goes, ‘a penny saved is a penny earned’.” He paused reflectively. “More so for time, don’t you agree? Anyway. First, as you probably recall, you couriered me a letter recently concerning the future interment of a dear friend of yours, a woman named—”

“I am well aware of the arrangements.”

“Yes, of course you are.” The attorney cleared his throat before resuming. “I have, unfortunately, some very sad news to deliver. Your friend died suddenly yesterday. Her body was flown from London this morning. Today I received the coffin— if I can call it a coffin, because I’ve never seen anything like—”

“And?”

“The coffin is now interred in your family’s vaults, as per your instructions.” The lawyer waited respectfully as though expecting some show of emotion from his client.

“You have yet to explain your presence at my door.”

Herr Klinger shuffled his feet. “Uh, well, I wanted to personally make sure that you received the keys to the crypt. Of course, I have already made arrangements for maintenance of the equipment necessary to keep the deceased at the proper, uh, temperature. An unusual request to be sure, one I’ve never before encountered, but I do see the sense of it. Hopefully science will soon find a cure—”

A small sound came from the doorway, something much like a snarl. The attorney rubbed his nose briefly, as if considering what to do next.

“In any event, allow me, sir, to offer my deepest condolences. If there’s anything I can do, I’d be delighted to be of assistance to you in this hour of sadness which has descended on your home.”

“Your efforts in coming here have been in vain, solicitor. I am already in possession of duplicate keys, and my instructions to you were to mail them to my postal box. If there is nothing further, I bid you a pleasant evening.”

“Uh, well, there is one other thing, the lady’s Will. It appears you’ve been named the major benefactor. Her attorney in London will be sending me a detailed account of the estate which has been estimated to be worth well over three million British pounds Stirling. You’re to inherit ninety per cent. A small bequest was made to a French woman, a Mademoiselle Lumiere, whose whereabouts are at the moment unknown. One of the reasons I came personally was to find out if you know the other beneficiary.”

Julien looked deeply into the attorney’s eyes, capturing his thoughts. He chose his words carefully. “There is a certain relationship among the three of us, of a sanguine nature.”

Temporarily Herr Klinger’s face took on a dull, dazed expression. But within seconds it came to life again. “Then you may be instrumental in finding her for my friend in London. If you have an address for the lady, even a vague idea as to her whereabouts—”

“I shall notify her presently.”

“Excellent!” Herr Klinger shouted, rubbing his hands together again, as if a good day’s work had been accomplished. “I’ll call London immediately. This certainly does simplify matters. I had no idea how to go about finding her. Of course, I would have checked the international directories, most probably she’s listed there. But, that may not be the case. Yes, this will greatly expedite probation of the Will. What good news! Why, I expect that if she arrives promptly enough, the entire affair can be settled within—”

“Herr Klinger! I expect you to attend to those legal matters involved with this inheritance. Any papers needing my signature can, as per our agreement, be forwarded on to me at my postal box. I regret your appearance at my door; a letter would have sufficed. In future, I insist that you abide by our arrangement.”

The round man in the three piece suit looked stunned, as though struck in the face by the lack of appreciation his client exhibited.

“If there is nothing further,” the vampire concluded, “I again bid you a good evening. The hour is late and the return trip to Vienna will no doubt be exhausting.”

Klinger, confused, stammered a farewell, even as the door began to close. “Yes, well, its been a pleasure, Count de Villier. A stroke of luck for you amidst the sadness. As the Americans are so fond of saying, ‘the rich get rich and the poor get—’”

But the door had closed in his face and was being securely locked from within.

Julien had not needed much in the way of hypnotic control to distort Klinger’s thoughts. The seeds were planted and he was confident that by the time his attorney reached Vienna he would have convinced himself that Count de Villier was a wonderful man, a valuable client and quite the gentleman. And, Klinger would, in future, abide by their agreement.

He returned to his sparse sleeping chamber in the bowels of the castle and pulled a chair close to the cold fireplace. He sat down to think.

As he had been doing for two days, he went over again in his mind what had occurred, trying to figure out what, if anything, had gone wrong. Ever since the night Jeanette died, he had been preoccupied with the sound he’d heard. Had he imagined it? If so, that was astonishing enough. But worse, he feared that somehow she had tricked him with her docility. And, even at the final moments of her life, had resisted him. A cold darkness passed through his mind at the thought of losing her.

Still, she was dead, at least in the mortal sense. He’d seen that with his own eyes. She could not have uttered a sound. It was impossible.

Yet, he had heard her voice, whether fantasy or fact, ringing in his mind like a Tibetan bell attempting to ward off death.

Logic and fear tore him apart. If Jeanette had defied him in death, she would not belong to him now. She would be as he was, infinite, indestructible, but she would not be his to possess. She would not be under his control. Even as he had had to come to terms with all his other flawed creations, so would he be forced to deal with her.

He tried to brace himself for another failure yet wondered how he could endure the loneliness again. The pain of his empty, solitary existence seemed suddenly overwhelming. To endlessly, torturously walk the earth alone for eternity—he was not certain that he wanted to continue.

But even in his despair Julien found it difficult to believe. She could not defy him. He had broken her will; she was too vulnerable to fight. Yes, she was dead. The sound was a fantasy he’d created from his fears, nothing more. But, if she had betrayed him? If he had failed? He would only know when he woke her, and then it would be too late.

Julien resolved to end this torment. He jumped to his feet, determined to go straight to the cemetery. It was already late in the evening, but he would arrive within the hour. Gurteg had instructed him to thaw her body slowly. He would begin now, spend the day in the crypt, and then wake her tomorrow after sunset. Whatever the outcome, at least this would be concluded soon, and that knowledge alone eased his mind. At least a little.

CHAPTER ELEVEN

The overcast night sky allowed little of the waxing moon’s pale brilliance to brighten the path. But Julien’s vision did not need the aid of the moon.

He walked briskly among the bleak graves and tombs of the old cemetery. The overgrown grounds were familiar; often he had strolled here in the silence of the night, undisturbed by human sound and scent. This nearly abandoned place felt comforting. It allowed the opportunity for thought and quiet meditation.

He had been interred here. Well, not here. Rather he had his coffin moved here and placed in a family vault he purchased. Reflecting on that time, so long ago, Julien vividly recalled his first exit from the stone sarcophagus. How new and different, yet familiar, everything seemed. His senses woke to a world of intoxicating colours, riotous scents, sensuous sounds—he’d felt as though for the first time in his existence life had taken on an unusual, exciting quality. For the first time, he experienced a reason to exist.

And the initial lusting after human blood! Hunger raged through his gut, driving him towards his natural food. Instinctively, he knew how to handle the kill—he had killed in life; it was no more difficult in death.

The man whose life he terminated on that virgin outing— and he could no longer remember the face, as was the case with most of his subsequent victims—proved too startled to resist. Julien now possessed the instincts of the lion, the stealth of the tiger, the speed of the cheetah. He fed well on the warm life-sustaining liquid, stimulating every part of his anatomy. Blood penetrated and expanded each starving cell— and he believed he could feel that. Wild sensations he would not have believed possible captured his body, and he became sated as never before.

Surprisingly, he had not found the act repulsive. In fact, it struck him as innocent, as innocent as the hunting of meat had been prior to death. Even the lifeless victim left him emotionless. Perhaps because he had experienced the dark mystery, he felt little sympathy. Or maybe it was just that by the time he had died, he was more than jaded.

In those early years after his resurrection, he had not bothered to select victims. More often than not he would wait until the hunger became uncontrollable and then take the first person passing. He discovered rapidly that hunger was a pleasant sensation, and added to the thrill of the hunt. In those days he had been unable to distinguish between the superior and inferior vintages. But quickly he became a connoisseur. Not only did he begin to examine the appearance and physical condition of those whose life he thrived on, but Julien learned to study the manner and behaviour, even the character of his victims. He had to. Because he soon realized that when he ingested the blood, he also consumed what had been the essence of the life of that person. Into him flowed their history, their loves and hates, passions and despairs, petty grievances and profound thoughts. Each one filled him with the experiences of their lifetime, stretching and enlarging him, until that heart beat as his own, that life became his. He learned to discern quality in seconds.

At first, too, he paid little attention to his surroundings. A quiet laneway, a back garden, either would do. But this inattention proved unwise on more than one occasion. It had not taken him long to unearth his powers of seduction, and he enticed victims into more propitious surroundings.

Ironically he discovered much to his astonishment that most mortals were attracted to him, a definite contrast to his mortal life. Without the slightest hypnotic gesture on his part, they came passively to the slaughter, baring their necks willingly. As decades passed, he developed not only caution but licentious skills to increase his pleasure.

Until that first encounter with another of his kind, his energies had been almost exclusively devoted to the game of fulfilling his physical needs and desires. The taste of the blood and the sensations locked to it were all he thought he had needed.

This cemetery was small by Austrian standards. And far from elaborate. The Jewish cemetery across the city possessed more interesting tombstones. But what he loved about this place were the enormous crypts, built during a time when housing for the dead was as or more important than for the living.

The crypts here reflected the influence Germany had always had on Austria. The styles were mainly Gothic, and the buildings resembled mini-cathedrals, with elaborate filigreed spires, flying buttresses, and multi-arched doorways. Stained glass using religious motifs graced the windows, or what remained. Vandals and the elements conspired to destroy the beauty of the past.

There were other cemeteries, with guards and dogs, and high locked gates. But the grounds he had chosen held the dead for centuries, and he appreciated that history. And the fact that it was virtually abandoned worked in his favour.

He passed a stone with Arabic markings—unusual for Austria. He paused, trying to decipher the script with his rudimentary knowledge. As he stood beneath the moon, a dark bird flew overhead. Suddenly he recalled a meeting that had changed his entire outlook.

North Africa, in 1625. Morocco, to the known world, had been nothing then, even the name was not the same, a desert, populated by caftaned Arabs, barely known to Europeans. A land just beginning to be explored. Anfa had been a sea port only, and he disembarked when the ship originating at the southern tip of Spain stopped there. The original destination, the twin cities of Rabat and Sale, were overun by Moorish pirates. When two suspicious ships leaving port were spotted, the captain intuitively headed further out to sea, away from Rabat. That extra day away from shore put pressure on the ship’s supplies, and they settled on Anfa to replenish stores. Anfa, a speck of a city that would be nearly destroyed by a coastal earthquake in the next century, and be renamed Casablanca, The White City, by the Portugese. The ship would leave port in two days, and Julien expected to be on it when it dropped anchor again at home port.

He remembered the time of year in North Africa had been the same as it was now in Austria: early fall. But there, so much closer to the equator, the nights were warmer.

He entered the market place through a lovely stone arch, and made his way along the near-empty winding passageways of the ancient Medina. Night had fallen, and while there were human beings on the narrow dark streets, they were few and far between. The week-long voyage left him racked with hunger. When Julien spotted a young Berber, he overwhelmed the boy immediately. Rich blood pumped energetically from the artery. He drained the strong brown body rapidly men left the corpse lying in the dirt. He felt satisfied. Yes, he would enjoy his brief stay here.

But as he moved on, a growing unease settled over him. At first he didn’t notice any unusual sights or sounds permeating the darkness. The air blossomed with exotic scents: pachouli, henna, cumin, saffron... His sensitive nostrils picked out a different scent: florid perfume. A European fragrance.

As he walked, Julien listened. The air crackled with a peculiar energy, as if lightning were about to strike. He peered intently down each narrow passageway, all the while telling himself to relax. Although he knew he was perfectly safe, a vague fear rose that threatened to snuff out logic. It caused him to grasp the hilt of his sword.

When he could bear the suspense no longer, he called out in French. “Attention! Qui vive! Repondez!”

No reply. He tried his limited vocabulary in the Arab dialect of the region. Only his echo returned to him. The alleyways were more silent than before.

Senses alert, Julien turned, intending to make his way back to the place where he would rest. Suddenly, from deep within the darkness of a doorway, a long luminescent arm snaked out to block his path. Julien jerked to a halt, angry, prepared to do batde.

A glowing spectre emerged. The supernatural beauty of this unearthly creature stunned Julien. Slightly younger. Yet ageless. Exceedingly handsome. He wore a navy cape which accentuated his fair skin and light hair. Deep blue eyes stared into Julien’s in a calmly penetrating way. Although he was short and slight, the man bore himself as though of noble birth. His face betrayed no sign of hostility, and when he spoke he seemed friendly enough.

“You appear to be a cultured man and yet your table manners leave something to be desired. Perhaps you are new to the feast?”

The ambiguous question floated through the air like the reverberation of a wind chime. Suddenly the man smiled.

“I am called Gaetan Verreault. As I passed, I noticed you take the boy. Primitive blood, in my experience, is far stronger than that of the more civilized European. But, you seem bewildered. Were you not expecting to see another European in this desert, or am I the first of our kind you have encountered?”

Indeed, Gaetan was the first Julien had met like himself. Although he had reasoned that there must be others, still, he had found none, and this contact left him incredulous.

The instant connection between the two vampires expanded as they realized they had much in common. Both had been born of French stock to an aristocratic line, and both now embraced eternity. But Gaetan was hardly ‘new to the feast’. He told Julien of his history that first night and during many of the nights they spent together over the next six decades. And although their mortal existences had been as different as white and black, happy and sad, love and hate, still, Julien knew he had met a kindred spirit. Only later did he realize what eternity without that spirit meant. And how much Gaetan’s history would impact on his own.

“I was born to a long line of Gaulish noblemen over two centuries ago. Of course you understand what that means— my pride has no bounds.” Gaetan laughed. His style was both boyish and polished, and that captivated Julien for the better part of a century.

“It was in the year 1420 when I, barely twenty-nine years of age, was ostensibly laid to my eternal rest by my mother on the British Isle,” Gaetan told him.“Yes, I know. I look French. And yet my colouring and certain features are decidedly British. This is my mother’s influence. You see, my father was more than liberal minded. At the beginning of the Hundred Years’ War between France and England he took an Irish wife.

Some called him insane. It certainly was an odd occurrence for the times, particularly in the very patriotic district of Orleans where I grew up. But my father was the descendent of barons who swore allegiance to France and, I suppose, although his choice of a bride generated some mistrust, still, he really was above suspicion.

“My mother was the odd one. Descended from the ancestors of Druids, she saw herself as a spiritual medium, a sorceress even. Her strain of mysticism runs strong in me. As a young child she enthralled me with tales of magic and wizardry—I saw elves and sprites and the odd faerie hiding in every bush. Mother espoused truths of the universe which today are very nearly lost. She made me swear not to reveal what she imparted, for my father had forbidden her to speak of these things. And with good reason. The Inquisition was stronger then than now, but you understand. She no doubt would have been condemned as a witch and brought to the kind of dubious justice suffered by so many. I have often suspected that her blood in my veins may have made me irresistible to our kind. But do not misunderstand. She is in no way to blame for my state.

“I loved my father and mother and sisters, and they me. As a child I led an idyllic life. I only tell you all this in order that you may better understand how I was reared, which may explain my future behaviour. My mixed parentage, although a blessing in many ways, left me with divided loyalties. I was far less politically bent than my peers. As well, a humanistic education further encouraged my pacifism and alienated me from the region of my birth, which is still today noted for its militancy.

“All through my boyhood, religion was my mainstay. But as those innocent years passed, another more absorbing passion began to see the light of day. My fantasies revolved around sailing the high seas, seeking fame, if not fortune. You may understand how incompatible these two interests were, and even speculate the degree to which I felt torn.

“I was unscrupulous, the way youth can be, and I used the lapse in the war. Mother and I worked on Father together, imploring him to permit my immediate departure while hostilities were at a standstill. Finally he placed me in the care of a family friend who captained a ship, and I became a cabin boy.

“That voyage proved far less romantic than I could have imagined, the conditions on board were harsh. Bathing for all but the captain proved impossible, out of the question, unless one resorted to the crude salt water. Fresh drinking water was rationed. The food—an unspeakably low quality, inadequately cooked. Naturally we immediately ate up all the fresh provisions first, leaving only roots, beans, and decaying meat which the cook spiced heavily to disguise its putrefaction. Dry hard bread accompanied each meal, which I came, of necessity, to tolerate.

The motley crew was largely Spanish but there were English, French, Italians and Greeks aboard too, forming a loud, rough and unruly lot. They drank and fought constantly. One Signor Crudelio, a madman in charge of discipline, devoted time each day to floggings which he seemed to enjoy. He used a frayed whipcord, the thickness of a man’s wrist, and, as a matter of course, administered five hundred, eight hundred, even a thousand lashes. If a man fainted partway through his chastisement, he was permitted to recover before the rest of his sentence was carried out. I once watched a Spaniard who had received a great number of blows hurl himself overboard, swearing he preferred the sharks to such a life. But Signoi Crudelio’s favourite means of torture was the heavy English broadsword, and he wielded it both accurately and mercilessly. Many times I saw him slice men to ribbons, particularly in the area of the heart, cutting and slicing like a butcher, as though he would pluck the living organ right from the chest. Nothing terrified me more.

“As we travelled east, we stopped briefly at various Mediterranean ports. All went reasonably well until we sailed into Turkey, docking at Constantinople.

“The crew teased me mercilessly, warning me against going ashore. They swore white slavers would kill to find a young boy like me. And, as if that were not enough, the natives, they insisted, were adept at grotesque tortures, and the murder of foreigners in that barbaric country was the norm.

“It was Signor Crudelio who insisted I accompany him ashore. Because I’d only too often witnessed his brutality, I had little desire for his companionship. And yet, of all the crew, I knew that I was probably safest with him by my side. Besides, I had little choice.

“What can I tell you, Julien? I’d never seen anything in France comparable to that place. My wildest dreams could not do it justice. The people, tall and lean, skin like milky coffee and eyes chocolate brown and shining. Somewhat like the residents here, in Anfa, yet these are but a shadow of those from whom they are descended.

“The flavours taking to the air and imbedded in the food, spices so bright of colour and strange of taste...I can see and smell them still. The men paraded around us, dressed in dazzling muslin caftans with brightly coloured turbans, for the women were only in the market place, and whisked from our path at our approach. But the females I managed to catch a glimpse of—scurrying away, hiding behind a pillar on the top balcony—they were covered head to toe in long white or brown jewel-studded veils. They moved gracefully, like the sand coloured camels used for transport. In the charshis and bazaars, which were only narrow tunnelled alleys jammed with peddlers, crowds and stalls, the merchants bargained, even for the most insignificant item. Baskets, tables and burlap sacks were piled high with food and dry goods. I saw everything imaginable for sale: embroidered kerchiefs, tooled leather tobacco pouches, woven cloth from Damascus, colourful Persian carpets, rows of gleaming copper pans, silver scabbards, sandals made from elephant hide, skeins of bright silks, bundles of tooled slippers, gold, silver and ivory jewelry, and precious stones... Saddlers and apothecaries stationed themselves just inside the arches, next to goldsmiths pounding pieces of gold into thin leaves for bookbinding. There were stalls of yogurt sellers next to public letter-writers with their bright brass ink stands and pen holders. And while coffee vendors crouched over a steaming brazier, we drank from little copper pots their strong bitter liquid which made my heart race. The shop-keepers smiled, toothless beguiling grins, as we bought fruit, jewelry and Chinese silks at probably five times the usual price.

“The Turks were and still are a religious people. Throughout the day they ceased their labours, turned towards Mecca, and knelt to pray. Their opulent turquoise and coral domed Mosques and gilded palaces, protected by the Janissary, were nestled among the cypresses and vineyards with storks wandering along the edges of the flat roofs. This contrasted sharply with the extreme poverty I witnessed, although, as you no doubt recall, the streets of Paris showed such extremes in the past, and still do. Yet, overall, there were few beggars. Those I noticed offered nails or lemons for a coin. The city possessed an order of its own. But still I was appalled by the dirt and filth the natives took for granted, especially in the Gypsy sector, where the residents left even their excrement in the streets.

“Despite all the contrasts, the enormous paradoxes of that mad land, I absorbed everything. And even as I was fascinated with the Turks, so, apparently, were they enamoured of me. In fact, Crudelio was approached several times with offers to purchase me. He seemed to find the idea extremely amusing and twice threatened, ‘You, you ragazzino, will fetch a pretty price, one of your age and size, so like a senorita in looks and temperament.’ It made me embarrassed and uneasy, and I stuck close to him. Although I feared him, I feared the Turks more.

“One evening of our shore leave, just as the sun had set and we were making our way back to the ship through the Gypsy area, we noticed a small crowd following close behind. Signor Crudelio, or Antonio, as he insisted I call him when we were out of earshot of the other crew members, placed his hand on the hilt of his sword and instructed me to do the same.

“We had travelled but a short distance when we found ourselves surrounded by this mob of dark men. They crowded up against us so that we could not release our weapons. Soon we were forced off the main path, in a particular direction, much against our wills.

“Eventually we came to what I can only describe as a hovel, a low, round, dark structure, near collapse, built of straw and mud, with an opening covered by a dirty piece of cloth. The mob forced us inside. It took some time for our eyes to adjust to the light of only one small candle. The odour in the interior was offensive, fetid almost.

“Antonio drew his sword immediately and ordered me to follow suit. At first we thought we were alone. But then, from one corner, we heard the rustle of cloth. When I looked there I saw what appeared to be a young girl, no more than ten years of age. Although clothed from head to foot with veils, the fabric across her face was latticed. Her eyes, outlined in kohl, shone through the weave like demonic jewels, glistening as though exhibiting fever.

“A man entered and began making wild gestures. He walked across the room to the girl and then towards me, pointing and moving his hands in such a way that I had the disturbing impression that he wanted to exchange us. Some moments passed, with little understanding on my part. Suddenly, Antonio broke into his harsh, brutal laugh, which caused the Turk to draw back in alarm.

“‘Ragazzino, he wants to sell you a moglie! Antonio grinned. ’How many camels do you own?‘ And with that he laughed again.

“Horrified, embarrassed, I had, at that time, barely entertained thoughts of the gentler sex. In fact, some of my first imaginings of erotic passion had come to me alone at night aboard the ship as I walked through the crew’s quarters, frequently hearing men cry out in pleasure in the dark. On one or two occasions, had I not acted quickly enough, groping hands would have pulled me into what, for me then, would have been a dark and unnatural embrace.

“But there I was, barely twelve years of age, confronted with a situation I was ill equipped to comprehend. I stood, surrounded and cut by Antonio’s gales of laughter, red faced and ashamed.

‘“Well, ragazzino, maybe you are too much the fool to enjoy yourself, but I am not,’ Antonio told me. He threw a few gold coins at the man, who scrambled in the dirt to retrieve them, then left immediately. Antonio approached the girl. I felt mortified and fascinated and stood watching them, unable to turn away, let alone leave.

‘“And, what have we here?’ he said to her, but she only lay on the floor as before like a wad of dirty fabric. He attempted to lift her heavy veil but she resisted that, instead turning her back to him. ‘No matter,’ he said gruffly. ‘It’s not your face that interests me.’ With that he pulled her skirts up and pushed her roughly into a position on her hands and knees with her bottom facing him. Antonio knelt down behind the child, unbuttoned his pants and mounted her immediately.

“I was offended and enthralled. They looked like our dogs and horses at home, but this was much more intriguing. I watched him thrusting into her, and felt locked into place, unable to turn away. Not that I wanted to.

“It didn’t take long. He gave a final heave and then withdrew himself. He turned to me and said in a deep voice, ‘Have a go at her, Gaetan, if you are man enough,’ and he laughed at me in that same cruel manner that set my nerves on edge.

“Of course, I had no intention of doing any such thing. I was still a romantic, and a Frenchman. I was about to tell him this when all of a sudden he let out a terrible howl. The girl had turned on him, her veils lifted, exposing her nakedness beneath, and her face. Her teeth were imbedded deeply in his forearm.

“Antonio shoved her to the floor and kicked her until she released him. ‘Puttana!’ he screamed, and stared at his arm, flesh gouged and bleeding. He grabbed the child up and was about to strike out when an evil look darkened his features. All of a sudden he bit into her chest. She was still too young for breasts but he bit her close to her heart and with such a fury that her head snapped back and her mouth dropped opened. As I watched, she fixed me with mocking eyes and I felt powerless, hypnotized.

“Her teeth! Long points, far longer than a human being should possess. I stood in horrified, mesmerized shock as I watched them descend and sink into his throat. And all the while he chewed on her flesh.

“I cannot remember all of the events clearly. Somehow we managed to leave there and return to the ship, but all that blurs in my memory. For a month or so, as Antonio lay dying, he refused to speak to me, or speak of the incident. He seemed to whither before my eyes, growing skeletal and pale. Our vessel went on to Izmir, and then headed back to Spain. It was while we docked at Naples that he died. Because we were in port, he was buried on land and not at sea.

“But his silence ended just before his demise. With his last delirious breath he let me know that it was I whom he was convinced had failed him. ‘You did nothing!’ he said, again and again. I know it makes no sense. What could I have done? But I think he was already insane and became more so at the end. And fourteen years later, after he rose from the grave, he sought me out. I was only a young man, my career, my life, just beginning, but he played out his revenge on me. And now I exist only to avenge that revenge.”

Julien knew that his life had been far more brutal than Gaetan’s. Because of that, his death had been almost a blessing; Gaetan’s death had been a tragedy. Shadows of one another, Gaetan seemed to have been as naive of the dark side as Julien had been of the light. But ultimately it was pain which bound them.

From that first night they became inseparable, talking for hours, often sharing the kill. Each brought to the other what he had been forced by circumstance to keep to himself and Julien was able, for the first time, to reveal aspects of his tortured past.

They never tired of experimenting with their powers. Gaetan was obsessed with searching for ways to destroy their kind. “It is good to know what we may face,” he insisted. “It is they who can truly harm us because they know how surely the past can kill.”

Many experiments centred on learning the subtleties of transforming others, and soon they had the technique refined to an art. Even a few drop of their blood would transform, provided there was sufficient time before death for the necessary changes in the system to take hold. Yet the more blood ingested, the greater the chance the newcomer would be sane. For they found that the change usually created unpleasant side effects. The transformed was neither here nor there, mortal nor immortal. Few were mentally strong enough to survive the engendering madness unscathed. It was from these failed experiments that Gaetan stumbled on the answers to many mysteries.

The relationship had seemed enough, at least for Julien. “Mon ami, we are bound by spirit as no mortals can be. Nothing can separate us,” Gaetan was fond of saying. Julien could still summon his voice to memory.

Only when they parted did Julien learn just how close they had been. For decades afterwards his wound throbbed, raw. But slowly time, the great healer, formed enough scar tissue to permit him to rebuild the desire to create others. And now he was making the attempt again. Perhaps for the last time.

All this and more Julien thought about as he moved past the stones and crypts marked with remembrances of the dead.

The moon was high now, and the sky clear of clouds. Finally he saw the peaked roof and the arched doorway. DE VILLIER was carved into the marble over the enormous crypt’s entrance. Most of his family had been exhumed and placed within this mausoleum. Regardless of his feelings for them, the knowledge that they were here usually provided some solace.

Julien stopped at the intricately carved wrought iron gate with the metallic heart in the center, pierced by a sword. He unlocked the door, admitting himself into the cool quiet realm of the truly dead. Surrounded by blackness and old air, he felt along the ledge above the door frame until he found a thick taper, which he lit. The light, unnecessary, somehow comforted him. Now that he was here, he felt in no hurry.

He moved past the low doorways leading to the empty coffins belonging to his sister and himself. When he came to his father’s chamber he stopped and stared at the inscription in stone: Philippe Julien Armand de Villier. Beneath that the quote by Erasmus: “Only fools and children do not fear death.” Julien stepped close to the grate, peering at the long stone sarcophagus with the reclining effigy carved on top.

He waited, although there was nothing else to see, then smiled grimly. Perhaps the old man would rise up from the dead and greet him, prepared to bestow the love and acceptance he had withheld. Mon Pere, will you confess your injustices and beg my forgiveness? He felt pulled towards fantasy but dragged himself back to the reality of the quiet crypt.

He turned and headed for a narrow low door at the end of the building. He opened the gate and stepped further down into the death chamber. Inside the dusty mausoleum, a compressor pumped out gas, shattering the silence. The shiny container rested on a low podium in the darkness. So modern, he thought. So out of place.

Julien approached the container cautiously. He rested the candle on top of the enormous battery, then hesitated, caught again by fears and forebodings.

But automatically his fingers felt in his pocket and grasped the key. He turned it in the lock and heard the delicate click. All that remained was to unbolt the panel, lift it off, lower the gas pressure slowly, and then, tomorrow evening just after sunset, he could open the container and wake Jeanette. Then he would know.

The weight of years of loneliness pressed heavily on his shoulders, and it took more time and effort to unbolt and lift the panel than he knew it should have.

As the plastic bubble came into view and the shiny satin inside it, a sound filled his ears. An empty space. Where she should have lain. The sound he now identified as a laugh which, he realized uneasily, originated behind him. Unearthly. Sepulchral. The laughter forced him to turn and face what he had, all along, dreaded.

CHAPTER TWELVE

Julien watched her silently, waiting for her macabre laughter to subsided. Even afterwards, she kept a smile on her face, and her eyes sparkled in the candle light—a satisfied cat that had just devoured a mouse. He left it to her to speak first.

“Forgive the joke, darling. It was so dreadfully stuffy in there, I just had to have some air. Enroute between London and Vienna something happened to the temperature and I defrosted. Earlier this evening I just popped out the plastic part and managed to unbolt the cover—trust me, it wasn’t easy. Oh, I knew you’d be surprised. Why, on earth, do they bother locking coffins? Are they trying to keep somebody from getting out or somebody from getting in?”

She chuckled and advanced towards him. A tremor like fear passed down his spine. In one hand she held the now-wilted garlic flowers and, with the other, she reached out to touch his cheek, but he pulled back.

“Julien, have you been worried? You look absolutely ghastly, you know. So gaunt and pale.” She laughed again. “You really should take better care of yourself. You’ll catch your death.”

Her laughter turned into hysteria, echoing through the emptiness of the stone chamber.

The humour was lost on Julien, even as he keenly sensed the loss of potential, and the waste of it all. His body tensed and his only thought was to get away.

He turned to head for the door, but Jeanette caught his arm.

“Darling! What’s your hurry? I’m here. Isn’t that what you wanted? And so new to the city. Why don’t you show me around? I’m utterly ravenous. Maybe we can go out for a bite.”

Her laughter reached a new peek of shrillness that grated on his nerves, forcing him to confront her. If she wasn’t already bloodless he knew he would have drained her then and there just for the sheer pleasure of it.

“So,” he hissed through tightly clenched teeth, “you have managed to betray me in the end, as I suspected. Nothing is lost to me but time, which I have in abundance. The loss to you, however, is the greater, which you will no doubt come to appreciate. You are on your own now, as you seem to desire so intensely. Make your stay in Vienna brief!”

He turned and left, her laughter peeling through the death chamber.

Julien headed for the city, driven by a ferocity that could have led to a thousand deaths, had he been capable of such. Fury and rage spurred him on, and he managed to attack seven people, leaving the bleeding and slow-dying in his wake. Enough, in fact, to headline in the morning edition of the Kronen Zeitung, “Has the European Wolf Returned?”

When at last he returned to his home, agitation spent, he felt exhausted, and more sad than angry. Defeat lingered in his mind. He could punish her for her revenge but he lacked the desire, if not the energy.

Julien deeply felt the aloneness that had filled nearly every waking moment of his existence. Nearly four hundred and fifty years on the earth and, but for a brief time with Gaetan, and a briefer time with Simone, always alone, rarely sharing even the simplest communication, let alone his tormented soul.

Many hours later the heavy sleep of the undead finally descended, palliating for a time the torment. As his consciousness dimmed, Julien consoled himself with the knowledge that at least in one regard he was extremely fortunate— he had always been incapable of dreams.

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

Jeanette made her way out of the gloomy necropolis. Since waking, she’d had to relieve her bladder and bowels a dozen times. And she had vomited. Sweat had gushed from her pores. This, plus the disorientation was terrifying, not to mention finding herself encased in a locked refrigerator!

She knew she should have asked Julien about the changes, if they were over, what more to expect, but she’d been so caught up in gloating that she couldn’t bring herself to be civil to him, even to gain information. He’d been a beast, and she would neither forget nor forgive. And now that her body was almost empty of fluids, the excruciating symptoms had subsided considerably.

By the time she arrived in Vienna, the city proper, it was late and hunger pangs stabbed at her stomach. She felt her insides knot and twist leaving her weak and dehydrated. The steady downpour only added to her discomfort.

She moved quickly through the deserted alleyways and side streets, preferring them to the main streets for some reason. Frantically she searched for someone living to appease her appetite.

Jeanette tuned into a presence nearby. Instinctively she felt which was the proper direction to take. She spied a girl who looked like a tourist, apparently drunk, and approached cautiously. Early traces of grey, preceding the sun’s rise, painted the sky, making the features of objects and people vaguely discernable.

Within a minute or two she was close behind the girl, who seemed unaware of the vampiric presence. A narrow laneway lay ahead, and Jeanette seized the opportunity.

“Excuse me. Do you have the time?”

“Uh, yeah, sure,” the pretty, well-formed redhead answered in English. But before she could turn her wrist over to check her watch, Jeanette had a hand over her mouth. She dragged her barely struggling victim into the alley and had her teeth in the jugular before the second hand on that watch could tick five times.

How strange that I’m doing this, she thought, sucking in a mouthful of blood. It feels so natural, drinking her blood. I don’t even feel guilty.

The warm vitae recharged her within seconds of swallowing. She felt heat spread through her chilled bones and dull the hunger pains. In a matter of minutes she had taken it all. When the body became heavy, it also became repugnant, and she let it slip to the ground.

Jeanette quickly undressed the girl and exchanged her own beaded Victorian gown for the black leather mini skirt, black fish-net stocking, stiletto heels, and vintage short rabbit fur jacket. She took the shoulder bag too. It contained makeup, used Kleenex, and a wallet with credit cards and student I.D., and about nineteen thousand Austrian Schillings—just over eighty U.S. dollars. Jeanette stashed her ruby jewelry in the girl’s bag, and tossed the Victorian gown she had loved over the naked body.

Now that her aches and pains had evaporated, she felt revived, and clear-headed. And strong. She stood for a moment looking at the face of her first victim. The features in death were peaceful, and the robust girl appeared to be sleeping.

Suddenly Jeanette felt an unfamiliar feeling surface in her chest. Soon, she was overcome with grief, for the girl or herself, she wasn’t sure. But the feeling contained other elements, of loss and waste, a sense of worthlessness, and she couldn’t identify the source.

The pre-dawn light had increased, making her skin feel tender, encouraging her to withdraw further into the shadows. She felt an instinct to hide. The sun, she sensed, would be unkind. It would hurt her skin and dull her thoughts. Intuitively she realized it would bring with it a feeling of mortality and vulnerability. Careful to keep to the shade of buildings, she headed further into the downtown core.

English had enough words with a Germanic root that she could make out some Austrian. A building with Nationalbibliothek carved into the stone entrance would open at eleven a.m. She wasn’t sure what to do so she wandered the Ringstrajie, the inner of three circles of wide avenues enclosing the centre of the city. Eventually she came to a noisy smoky all-night coffeehouse on Dorotheergasse. She took a table near the back of the run-down cafe, under a broken clock which registered the time permanently as twelve, and ordered a kapuziner, a Viennese coffee the menu described in Austrian and English as “the brown colour of the robes worn by Capuchin monks.” She had no desire to even taste the beverage, and left it untouched.

Through the grimy windows she watched the sky lightening; as the darkness faded, foreboding replaced it. This was not good. How had Julien managed to survive in the daytime, she wondered. Could she learn to do that too? Maybe it was just a question of will—she tried to steel herself, will herself to supersede the physical restraints of light. She thought for a moment something was happening then, suddenly, she looked up. The light outside the window almost blinded her, and the sun had yet to rise. She experienced an urge to run and at the same time felt paralysed.

All around sat young people, laughing, arguing politics, kissing, sketching, reading dated magazines... Jeanette felt a barrier between herself and them, which made her uncomfortable, so she directed her thoughts elsewhere.

What were the benefits of this new condition? Acute senses— brilliant colours with sharp contrasts. Pungent scents. Clear sounds, the levels distinct. Jeanette became aware she could hear conversations at distances greater than before. If not for the oddly unnerving effect of the approaching dawn, of a growing lethargy, and of the gap she felt between herself and everyone around her, those increased senses would have been sheer delight. As it was, she felt alien. And it seemed like the tip of a horrendous iceberg that threatened to crush her, then freeze her into an agony she could only vaguely comprehend and would have no hope of escaping.

All these thoughts frightened her. She asked the couple at the nearest table the time, then headed out to the library. She sensed only one guard inside, and decided to force in a side door. Action verses inaction and worry—no contest!

She subdued the guard easily. I’m fearless now, she assured herself. And guiltless. The sudden realization struck: Julien was no longer a threat to her physically.

She headed to the business section for one of the reference books she knew would be in the main library of every major European city. She checked lists of lawyers and clients, finally matching up the name de Villier with the name Klinger. She wrote down both addresses. This Klinger’s street was only a block away, and she hoped the numbers would mean the office was close.

Julien would of course have a lawyer—she had a vague memory of someone giving instructions about the cryonics equipment in a condescending tone that reminded her of just about every attorney she’d ever worked with. And there was the Will he’d forced her to sign.

Another hour and the sun would rise. She sensed that she had to hurry—instinct told her she would not be able to face that abrasive ball of fire and survive.

Two blocks from the library she found a four storey moderately elaborate structure, built of red and beige stone, when the Habsburgs were starting to lose power back in the early nineteenth century. The lobby directory gave her a number on the second floor. A brass sign on the door informed her that Gustav Klinger would arrive at 7 a.m. Debating the risk, she forced the door and let herself in. The reception area was furnished from the same period as the building’s construction. Almost a museum, it abounded in brocaded fabrics, damask drapes and dark oak panelling. Oil paintings of Vienna adorned the papered walls. The inner office, where the files were probably kept, had a lock she decided to pick rather than break—no sense taking a chance on alerting Julien.

She dug a paperclip out of the receptionist’s desk and while she busied herself with the lock, she thought about Julien.

What a mystery! She just could not understand why he had done what he had to her. He claimed to want a companion, a lover. But his brutality didn’t make any sense. Now, it would be impossible to dominate her, but he must have known that. She was as strong as he, as indestructible. His violence proved he was incapable of love. But then, why do it? she wondered. Just for the pleasure of the torture? That, she could not understand. When she took that girl’s life, she did not want to cause her any pain. Maybe Julien’s nature was purely evil. And then there was the question of the Will. He wanted her money, but why? She would find out his financial status once she picked this damned lock!

Just as her newly-sensitized ears heard the lock click, and her fingers felt the slight tremor in the metal, she also heard a sound outside the office door. She moved with the speed of light, seated herself beside the reception desk, and had a magazine open and in her hands when a short round man with a pompous look on his face walked in. That look shifted to surprise.

The clock on the wall began to chime seven times, and two tiny figures emerged from the inner workings to do a dance.

“Guten tag. Good morning,” she said at once, to put the man at ease.

He regained his composure quickly, gave her the once-over, then approached, hand extended, smiling broadly. Friendliness was at a minimum, lust and ego at a maximum.

“Guten tag, Fraulein. Er, good day. You speak English, yes?”

“Yes.”

“Another early riser like myself. Well, the early bird catches the worm, they say. But, how did you get in?”

“The door was open.”

“I see,” he said, looking at the door with concern. “Well, never mind. I am Herr Klinger. But I don’t believe we’ve met.”

“No, we haven’t. I’m a friend of Count de Villier.” She knew better than to offer her name. After all, she was supposed to be dead.

“Not Jeanette Lumiere?”

She gave him a non-committal nod.

He grasped her hand again and shook it hardily. Words tumbled from his lips as his enthusiasm bubbled over. “What a pleasure! What a surprise! Why, this is wonderful. I had no idea you’d arrive so soon. I expected it might be weeks. But, this is excellent timing. It’s such an honour to meet you, Mademoiselle.”

Jeanette’s strategy, flimsy as it was, had just fallen apart. She decided to play it by ear and let the exuberant, loquacious man take the lead. He seemed to be a babbler, so he would probably talk too much, which would suit her.

“Come into my office. Come! Please, sit down.” He sat behind the desk and she took one of the overstuffed chairs on the other side. “You’re quite the lucky young woman now, although I’m sure your friend, the Count, has already informed you of that. Of course, it’s very sad news about the lady in London. So unfortunate that good luck should come about through such a tragedy. Please allow me to offer my deepest condolences.”

He waited patiently, apparently expecting an appropriate display of emotion. When it finally dawned on Jeanette that he was speaking of her own death, the irony of the situation struck her and she wanted to laugh. As a grin spread across her lips, she forced it into a grimace, and turned sharply away so that he would not see her eyes sparkling.

She moved her body into a position depicting extreme grief. She must have done a satisfactory job because her action prompted the attorney to get up and move to her side of the desk. He sat in the chair next to her and placed what was meant to be a soothing hand on her shoulder. He spoke solemnly.

“Ah, such a young woman. Struck down in the prime of life and wealth. And yet, are we not all brief candles, ready to be snuffed out? And which of us can say that this death was not for the best? Perhaps the lady suffered in such a way that death came as a relief and she went ‘gently into that good night.’ But we the living have a duty, and it is to go on. Tomorrow is a new day for us all. And though the sadness of today cannot be erased, still, is there not joy in life?”

She had her head bowed now, wondering if he would ever shut up. She wondered how anyone could take him seriously.

His archaic commentaries had little relevance to her. He was a speech-maker, she decided, a memorizer of clichés and platitudes, and she would need to curtail his soliloquies if she was to get any direct information before sunrise, a sunrise she felt pending as strongly as she felt the pull of gravity keeping her feet on the earth.

She lifted her head and spoke quickly. “Yes, the past is the past and, as you say, we’ve got to live for the future. Actually, I hardly knew the woman. It’s certainly regrettable that she died, especially so tragically. But, one must go on.”

Klinger, shaken out of his self-induced misery, seemed confused by the quick transition. He returned to his chair behind the desk, an effort to regain control of the situation. “Oh, is that so? I understood from the Count that the three of you were close. I assumed you knew her quite well, especially given the size of the bequest.”

Jeanette shifted in her seat. Obviously she would need to keep from offering too much information to this man who seemed to know so much more about the situation than she did. And who, while not brilliant by any means, was not as stupid as he looked and acted. “Actually, it was the two of them. I didn’t know her nearly as well as Julien did.”

Herr Klinger apparently accepted this and Jeanette held herself back from making further excuses.

“Well, in any event,” Klinger’s mood shifted to a more jovial one, “you’ve been left ten per cent of her estate, which is a fair sum. I don’t have the exact figures as yet, but I expect detailed information to arrive within a few days. Yes, apparently you’ll inherit a substantial amount, although not nearly as large a sum as the Count will. But still, ten per cent is nothing to sneeze at.”

“Yes, we’re both very fortunate to have come into so much money. Although Julian doesn’t really need it.” She gave him a winning smile. She didn’t know Julien’s finances, but clearly he had the money to get around. And already she could see that the life of the undead would never be hampered by lack of funds.

The attorney beamed right back. “That, my dear young woman, is the way of the world. As the Americans like to say, the rich get rich and the poor get poorer.”

The man’s patronizing tone irked her but she pretended to be impressed. “How clever of you.”

Klinger’s eyes lit.

“But then, Julien has always been considered such a shrewd speculator...” Jeanette calculated the risk and took it, just to get a handle on Julien’s finances.

The attorney looked confused. “To the contrary, Mademoiselle. While the de Villiers have been, as you well know, one of the wealthiest families in Austria for centuries, they’ve always been far more interested in securities than speculation. It’s odd you know the Count to be a risk-taker. I’m his attorney and if he wanted to invest his money for higher yields, I certainly would be the first to know.”

Herr Klinger’s face had adopted a troubled look, which Jeanette tried to erase. “Well, that’s his reputation in the international circles. I don’t really know very much about his finances.”

But the attorney had withdrawn slightly into insecurity. “Maybe another attorney handles investments through a different source. It’s conceivable that he engages another attorney, and deals with another broker...”

Jeanette watched the worried look on his face take up permanent residence. Julien’s harsh manner would create insecurity in anyone, she thought, so instantly she went about patching up the deflated ego across the desk.

“Actually, that information is largely hearsay. I’m sure that if Julien does put money into speculative ventures, it would not be much, and it would be on a strictly personal basis. He’s such a discrete person. But then, you, being his friend, know that already. Somebody with his reputation is bound to cause a stir and be the brunt of constant gossip.”

The attorney perked up a bit, but melancholy still clung to him. Jeanette reached across the desk and placed a pale hand on top of the chubby clenched fist. “Besides, Julien’s extremely pleased with your work. He’s told me so many times. I’ve heard him say you’re the best attorney in Vienna, if not the continent, and he has complete faith in you.”

The flattery produced the desired effect. Gustav Klinger returned to his old self. His shoulders straightened and his face glowed at the praise. But before he could launch another diversion, Jeanette spoke up. “I want to visit Julien but I don’t know what’s the best way to get there.” She smiled and left it open.

Her smile was no less endearing for its sensuality and Herr Klinger responded immediately. He jumped to his feet with the precision of an actor on cue.

“Please, allow me to drive you. As you know, it’s quite a ways out of the city, near Mürzzuscblag, almost an hour away. But the ride’s a pleasant one through the mountains. I’m certain he’ll be delighted to see you. Unfortunately I’ll be busy the rest of the morning and afternoon, but tomorrow morning, though—”

“Oh, I have a better idea! Let’s go this evening! I’ll be free just after sunset, if you can find the time then.”

Klinger paused. He was not a man who grasped change easily. “Well, perhaps... Would nine o’clock be too late? I have several papers for the Count’s signature anyway and, as the British say, we can kill two birds with one stone. Perhaps we can meet for dinner first—”

Jeanette jumped to her feet and extended a hand. “Nine o’clock is perfect. I’m meeting a friend for dinner, and can come here afterwards. This is wonderful, and very generous of you.”

“Think nothing of it, Mademoiselle. I’m just happy to be of service to you.”

Jeanette smiled, thinking that this preposterous man had no idea just how much help he was being.

The moment Jeanette stepped outdoors, the pink in the sky hit her full force. The light blinded her. Her skin rippled as if scorched by flames. She raced to the fragments of shade still left. Drowsy and sluggish, she felt she had to sleep—fast!

The urge to return to the cemetery, to the crypt escalated with the horrible symptoms of impending incineration. But that was too far away, she’d never make it. She wondered if she could sleep in anything besides a coffin. There was no question now—she would have to try.

Jeanette hailed a taxi and asked to be taken to Vienna Wood, “The most secluded entrance.”

The cabbie, in broken English, tried to warn her how dangerous it was for a woman to enter the woods alone, even in the daytime, especially the areas that were not well travelled.

She cut him off when she handed him four thousand six hundred Austrian Schillings.

Reluctantly he let her out on an isolated road surrounded by dense foliage. Once he had driven off, she quickly made her way up through the trees and into the bush. This area was deserted. She took several small paths but soon abandoned them for the thickly hidden forest with more shade. She could barely see. Her brain hurt, as if it were melting. If steam was not rising from her flesh, it should be—she felt on fire.

She noticed a huge fallen tree hollowed out by rot that formed a three-sided barrier, most of the open side facing the ground. Norse peoples used to be buried in hollowed-out logs, she recalled. This was as close to a coffin as she would find this day.

She collected enough branches and leaves to block the light, barricading herself against the harsh rays just creeping over the horizon. Dark enough at last, she hoped she would be safe.

Jeanette found herself plagued with physical paralysis and exhaustion. If anyone unearthed her from this make-shift grave, even if she survived the sun, she would not be able to defend herself. And on top of those worries, she suffered a monstrous case of insomnia.

Her mind sifted through what little information she had gathered, and she could not help but speculate on what was to come. She really had no idea why she wanted to see Julien again, no grand plan. The attraction mystified her. She felt strongly her desire for revenge. She wanted to hurt him in a way that he would feel but had no idea yet how to do that. He seemed omnipotent, but there must be some weakness. And when she found it, she would use it. He would pay for what he did to her, suffer the way he had made her suffer, only more.

But mixed in with all the hatred and bitterness was a longing she could not comprehend. One that made her uncomfortable, so much so that she didn’t want to think about what it meant: She wanted to be with him. Not for revenge. Certainly not out of love. The feeling tormented her, but she refused to dwell on it, shoving the emotion aside to make more room for her destructive fantasies.

Somehow she must have slept. When the sun set, she knew it. She headed back into the heart of the city, a heart that pulsed with the blood of the masses.

Near the old coffee house, she found a trendy bar, and headed for the washroom. The first woman who entered became her second victim. Jeanette choked the woman into unconsciousness, dragged her into a stall, exchanged clothing, then drank her blood. This blood was as good as the first, and just as fulfilling. As with the first victim, Jeanette felt burdened with remorse and sadness.

At nine o’clock sharp she and Gustav Khnger drove out of Vienna together through the dark and beautiful night. The trip was not unpleasant for either one. They shared jokes, sang songs and laughed a lot. The rest, the blood, even the new attire all had worked to lift Jeanette’s spirit, and she felt almost human again.

As Herr Klinger shifted his Volvo into low gear in order to climb a steep grade, he pointed and said, “There, on the left, is the Monastery at Vorau. And on the right, our destination.”

Chiselled from the mountains, the great castle of the de Villier family rose up out of the woods to pierce the sky. It stood grand and majestic in its medieval architecture, despite the fact that most of the parapets had been crushed by time, like fangs against a darker backdrop, two sombre turreted towers reached forebodingly towards the heavens. A thick stone wall surrounded the castle, completing the portrait of an impenetrable fortress.

At the front door, Herr Klinger took the iron knocker shaped like the head of a wolf in his hand and brought it down firmly onto the iron plate underneath. The clank of metal on metal resounded in the stillness of the night.

“Maybe,” said the attorney, looking suddenly worried, “we should have written first.”

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

“Darling!” Jeanette cried, throwing her arms around Julien’s neck in a lavish display of affection. “It’s been so long since we’ve seen each other. My, but you look well. And devilishly handsome as ever. New clothes?” she said, looking over the plain black shirt and pants he wore. “You’re so striking in black.”

Julien stood speechless. He ignored her and, instead, stared angrily into the apprehensive face of his attorney.

Herr Klinger fidgeted. He began to attempt an excuse for his presence. “Uh, Count de Villier, please excuse—-” But Jeanette cut him short.

“Well, darling, aren’t you going to invite us in? It’s absolutely frigid out here and we’re so tired from the trip.”

Julien glared at her, but Jeanette didn’t seem to notice. She brushed past him.

Herr Klinger remained outside, nailed to the step by Julien’s withering look.

“Come on in here, both of you! Why are you standing out there? You’ll catch your death.”

Klinger seemed to summon all his courage and finally skirted by Julien, who let him pass unchallenged.

Julien had been startled by this visitation. He suspected he would see Jeanette again, but he had not expected her to come to his home. And with the idiot Klinger! He wondered what kind of treacherous scheme she was fabricating. He intended to find out.

He closed the door and entered the main room, where they waited.

The attorney sat gingerly on a simple wooden chair. Jeanette perched at one end of the chaise longue before the walk-in fireplace aglow with blazing logs. She patted the space next to her, but Julien remained standing.

His immediate anger he directed at the attorney. “Herr Klinger! I thought it was understood that any communication between us would be carried on via post. I do not appreciate another intrusion into my privacy!”

Klinger looked embarrassed and hurt. He squirmed in his chair like a chastised child, waving his hands as if trying to summon an excuse from the air.

“Darling, don’t be so harsh. Herr Klinger was kind enough to offer me a ride out here. If it wasn’t for his generosity I probably wouldn’t have arrived tonight. But I knew you’d be eager to see me. You should be grateful.” She patted the seat beside her again. “Come and sit next to me. I’ve missed you.”

Julien glared at her. The attorney’s presence made things difficult.

Jeanette smiled. “Mr. Klinger has brought us both some news about your dear friend’s estate. I was bequeathed ten per cent and you ninety. Isn’t that wonderful? She was probably too generous for her own good, don’t you think? It was so lucky that I went to see Mr. Klinger today and found out about all this.”

“You mean you didn’t receive the Count’s letter to come to Vienna?” Klinger asked.

Julien spoke quickly. “No letter has been sent as yet. Mademoiselle Lumiere has seemingly arrived on her own.” He looked at her coldly.

“Darling, there’s no need to be so formal in front of Mr. Klinger. We’re all friends, aren’t we? And, after all, we’ll be married soon, and there’s no reason to keep it a secret any longer.”

Both males were surprised by the announcement, but for totally different reasons. Julien was as jolted as if a sudden earthquake threw him physically off balance.

Klinger leapt to his feet immediately. “What a surprise! I had no idea. But I’m delighted for you both. Of course, I should have known.” He reached for Julien’s hand and shook it, although there was no firmness in the latter’s grip. Then Gustav approached the bride-to-be and kissed her heartily on both cheeks.

The two chatted happily while Julien stared in stunned silence. What could she be thinking? What kind of peculiar revenge was she planning? And using his attorney as an accomplice! She must have become crazed from the change. That happened, far too often. But whatever was going on, he would tolerate this game no longer.

He moved on Jeanette, pulling her roughly by the arm towards a doorway. As an after-thought he realized how this must appear to Klinger and said in an even tone, “My dear, you are no doubt extremely fatigued after such a long journey. I shall show you to your rooms so that you may retire.”

He turned his head in the direction of his solicitor, who looked confused and abandoned. “I am more than grateful to you, Herr Klinger, for delivering Mademoiselle Lumiere into my hands. The hour is late and there is much we must bring to a conclusion between ourselves. I am certain you understand. Have a quick and safe journey back to Vienna.”

As he attempted to pull her through the doorway, Jeanette grasped the door frame, attaching herself firmly. “But Julien, darling. It would be very rude of us not to invite Mr. Klinger to spend the night. It’s getting so late, and it’s such a long drive back to the city. You will stay, won’t you Herr Klinger?”

The attorney opened his mouth but Jeanette killed the protest. “No, I insist! And so does Julien.” She looked up at Julien. His anger had reached volcanic proportions. Still, she gave him a sweet smile. “We certainly wouldn’t want to get a reputation for being inhospitable, would we, darling?”

She searched his eyes for something friendly, but their darkness masked all but the violence in him.

With a quick jerk of her arm, Jeanette broke free. She walked to the attorney, who looked disoriented. “Of course you’ll stay. We won’t hear of you taking that exhausting drive back at this hour.” She linked her arm with his as she spoke, and brought him to the doorway where Julien stood in a silent rage. “I’m sure we can find a bed for you. This place is enormous. There must be at least fifty empty rooms.”

The attorney eyed Julien hesitantly and stammered a few words. “This is too much trouble. I don’t want to put you out.”

“Put us out!” Jeanette laughed. “Far from putting us out, you’ll give these dusty old walls their first glimpse of life in what is, no doubt, many years. Isn’t that true, darling?”

Julien could only stare at her, marvelling at her capacity for manipulation.

“Darling,” she purred, her voice polite, hostessy, “why don’t you suggest a room? You know the place better than me. It’s so dark. Of course, when this castle was built electricity hadn’t even been invented.” She laughed again.

For the time being he decided to come to her aid, at least for tonight. He felt cornered with no way out. Best for the attorney’s sake to play along with this ruse until he could deal with her alone.

“You will find candles by the hearth. light them from the fire.”

Jeanette lit three candles then re-joined them. She handed one to Klinger and tried to give one to Julien but he turned away.

The two followed him into the next room, dark but for the light they brought with them. Neither he nor Jeanette needed much light. Julien’s eyes picked up the candlelight and expanded it, like a cat. It allowed him to see everything through a softened filter of illumination. And all that he saw he imagined through the eyes of these two, who were seeing his home for the first time.

Every wall, every corner, crammed with souvenirs, memories from Julien’s life. Chinese lacquered chests crowded up against armchairs inlaid with ebony and ivory, all brought from the Orient two centuries ago. On the walls hung intricate tapestries of classical scenes, like the tale of Vulcan—a favourite, and a gift from Gaetan. Weapons and armorial bearings with mottos vied for space with the weavings as did huge stamped leather hangings which stretched from the high ceilings to the stone floors. Reminders of his military past.

Persian carpets, thread-bare in spots—why did he keep them? Cabinets of mirrors holding Limoges porcelaine stood under faded oil portraits of his austere family members, each painting surrounded by one of the enormous gilded frames that had been so popular during the Renaissance. Everywhere were ewers, mother-of-pearl goblets, porcelain figurines, flagons, carvings in ivory, Venetian glass, and thousands of ancient books.

Things were jammed together haphazardly, with no rhyme or reason, and what wasn’t protected by cloth had developed a patina from centuries of dust. The effect was of chaos, old, expensive chaos. He knew in their eyes this is how they saw him. It gave him pause.

He led them up a long staircase to the second floor. They had been silent on this tour, and the only sound came from three pairs of feet clacking along the stone corridor, and the faint echo those steps produced.

The room he selected was on the opposite side of the castle from his sleeping chamber. As a youth, this had been his room. Julien took up a position by the cold fireplace, watching them.

Jeanette placed one of her two candles on the mantle and the other on a table near the bed. Quickly she pulled the thick dust covers from the furnishings, loading the air with particles.

Immediately, Herr Klinger began to sneeze and cough. She forced open the leaded window, which had not been opened in over a century.

“Marvellous antiques,” the attorney gasped. “Probably invaluable. These things are worthy of a museum.” Another coughing fit overtook him. He rummaged in his pocket for a handkerchief and joined Jeanette at the window where he gasped in fresh air.

“We’ll bring you some sheets and towels, and make a fire too. Soon it’ll be all warm and cosy in here,” she said cheerfully.

She picked up the candle by the bed and moved it close to the books in the tall bookshelf, stopping at one spine, trying to decipher the tide. Absently she said, “Julien, why don’t you get these things for Mr. Klinger?”

He clamped her arm in a vice-like grip, startling her. “My dear, I insist that you accompany me.”

Before she could protest, he had her out in the hallway and the door to the room closed with Herr Klinger inside. They glared at one another over the light of the candle she still held.

Then her face broke into a wide grin, infuriating him further. He yanked her along the corridor. They had only gone several metres when she pulled back.

“Don’t use force on me, Julien! I’m not your slave, no matter what kind of fantasies you have.”

He reacted by shoving her up against the wall, his hand at her throat, his face contorted with rage. “Your little game has gone far enough, my dear. The thoughtlessness of such capricious actions may prove your downfall. Perhaps you are simply stupid. If this is your idea of revenge you had best recognize the consequences. By having that man here you bring danger on both our heads, whether or not you can reason that far.” He squeezed her throat for emphasis.

Jeanette felt her control snap. She slapped him across the face. “I’m as strong as you are now, you antediluvian bastard. Keep your hands off me!”

Julien hurled her 150 metres down the corridor. As she was getting to her feet he was coming towards her menacingly. “The male of most species, including ours, possesses superior strength, therefore the female must submit. It is a fact of nature. Perhaps you still have need to be taught that lesson.”

Suddenly, down the hallway, a door opened and a timid beam of light fell onto the floor. Both of them turned to face the attorney as he emerged from the room.

“Ah, excuse me. I was thinking to myself that I should be helping—”

“Return to your room!”

Julien’s tone chilled the air, and Jeanette attempted to warm it. “You certainly should not be helping. You’re a guest in this house. And besides, there’s really not much to do. We’ll bring the things you need shortly. We just stopped for a little chat. We haven’t seen each other in so long, have we darling?”

She picked up the candle and slipped an arm around Julien’s waist while she spoke, pressuring him to turn. Together they walked down the hallway, Jeanette calling over her shoulder, “We’ll be back in a flash.”

The second they rounded the corner, Julien broke away. She spoke before he had a chance to. “Look, we can talk later. If you’re so interested in security, why don’t you help make him comfortable?”

“There is nothing to discuss.”

“Whether we talk or not, this isn’t the time. If you’ll tell me where I can find some sheets and towels, I’ll take them to him myself. For someone in your position I would think you’d show the man a bit of courtesy, if not kindness. Unless, of course, you don’t care about gossip and your reputation. Obviously you don’t or you wouldn’t be living in this relic.”

“That is precisely why I do not want him here. I have guarded my existence for centuries and you have taken it upon yourself to expose all that I have protected for so long. But by arousing suspicions in my direction, you also arouse them in your own, which you will come to regret.”

“Julien, you’ve watched too many horror films. The vampire is hard to stake, especially by a man like that. Why don’t you just tell me where I can find some sheets and towels?”

“Fool!” he hissed, but realized her priorities were justified. “You will find little of what you seek here. Whatever may be of any use can be secured from my chamber.”

“All right. Lead the way.”

When they reached the north side of the castle, where the sun would not penetrate, he opened the door to the room where he slept. Jeanette followed him in.

In contrast with the other rooms in the castle, the interior of this one was stark. No elaborate mouldings, no multitude of treasures. A long rosewood table took up most of the space, its thick legs carved into the faces of nymphs and satyrs. Over the surface lay a worn and faded black and red velvet cover. The table held several ordinary business suits and plain black or white shirts, a few toilet items. More clothing, including his black cape, had been draped over the back and piled on the seat of a wide armchair made of strips of thick leather held in place on the iron frame by large brass studs. A pitted tarnished sword hung on one wall; the others were empty. His curtained-off sleeping area lay in the corner farthest from the window—a long black coffin.

Jeanette gathered what items she could find and hurried towards the door. He warned her before she could leave, “Do not take him! I forbid it!”

She threw back her head and laughed. “Julien, you do have a way with words.”

He wondered whether he should go with her to make certain she did not attack his attorney, but decided against it. He needed to think.

Once she was gone, he walked to the window and opened the wooden shutter, letting in the moon’s light. He felt so weary.

He had no idea what she was doing but he wouldn’t let her get away with any more. It had already gone too far. She could cause him inconvenience by her rash actions, but that would be the worst of it. He felt certain that the change had made Jeanette insane. She obviously had no concept of danger. He could destroy her, and the attorney too, if need be, but that might create more problems—others might know Klinger had come here. If all else failed, he would leave Vienna and get away from her as soon as possible. What he most feared seemed to have become a reality which he, himself, had created; a rebel, turned against him.

Jeanette picked up some wood from the bin beside the fireplace in the main room downstairs, then headed back to Mr. Klinger’s room. As she opened the door, the attorney hurried towards her. He looked like a child who had been left alone in a haunted house, relieved to see a familiar face.

She offered a warm smile. “I hope the room’s aired out some. This place is so old and stuffy and most of it isn’t in use, so naturally a bit of dust collects.”

She dropped the logs near the fireplace and Klinger began methodically placing them onto the stones in a way which suggested occupational therapy.

“I managed to find a few things,” Jeanette announced, holding them up, but the attorney didn’t turn around. “Towel! Comb! Soap! And a jug of water and wash basin. Unfortunately there are no extra sheets but I thought we could turn a couple of these covers over and use them. I’ll just shake some of the dust off.”

Panels of faded damask curtains enclosed the four-poster bed on two sides. A mattress of rotting straw lay on top, half-covered by filthy fabric which she shook out the window. When she finished, she laughed, amused by the results. “Well, I suppose it’s not the Hilton. But at least you can tell your friends you slept in an honest-to-god straw bed from the Middle Ages.”

The attorney made no attempt to share in her good mood. His own had apparently sunk very low. Jeanette could see that for him the environment was conducive to despair and she knew that if he hadn’t been afraid of offending his wealthy client, he would have driven back to the city.

The logs began to blaze, and Jeanette joined him.

“Ah, well,” he said, rubbing his hands together. “The fire certainly adds a bit of cheer to the place. I’ve always liked fireplaces. So cosy.”

They stood side by side, staring at the dancing yellow light. The vampiress glanced at the man next to her and a hungry feeling spread within. She noticed his fleshy neck, and felt tempted. To control her thoughts, she took a step away. “Would you like me to bring you anything else? Maybe a cup of tea?”

“No, thank you, Mademoiselle Lumiere. You’ve been too kind already. I’m afraid I’m imposing on you and the Count.”

She felt her craving grow by the second, and turned towards the door. “Don’t be silly. It’s delightful having you here. I’m only sorry the place is in such a state.”

Clearly, the attorney didn’t want her to leave. He launched into one of his long, uninteresting speeches.

“I suppose the Count doesn’t stay here that often. He’s probably very attached to the place. After all, its been in his family for so long. One of the last privately owned medieval castles left in Austria, or most of the continent, for that matter. The place is filled with objects of historical value. I expect some day he’ll want to turn most of them over to the Niederosterreichisches Landesmuseum, and of course that would mean a large tax deduction for donations that might—”

“If there’s nothing else you need, Herr Klinger, I’ll say good night. I’m very tired and tomorrow will be a busy day.” She opened the door.

The attorney clutched at her with his words. “Please, call me Gustav. We’re almost old friends now and I’ve always believed there’s no need for last names among friends, no matter how briefly—”

“Good night, Gustav. Sleep well.”

“Goodnight Mademoiselle Lumiere, I mean, Jeanette. My, but it’s difficult to alter one’s habits, even when they are new habits, don’t you find that to be the—”

The closed door drowned him out. Jeanette leaned against the door frame to stabilize herself, then moved away from the meal she had passed up. The power of the drive towards food was unlike anything she had experienced in life. This brief encounter left her stomach in knots, and her head light.

When she finally returned to Julien’s dim chamber, she found him standing by the window, staring out. She shut the door quietly. He must have heard, but did not turn.

“Mr. Klinger’s settled for the night. He seems a bit unnerved by the eeriness of the place. But I’m sure he’ll sleep alright.”

She walked to the window and stood close to him. “You should be proud of my self-control. He looked very appetizing to me.”

Julien spun around. The control of his anger he had worked so hard to achieve in her absence ignited at the sound of her voice. The pale blue-white light of the moon shown full on her lovely face. Jeanette smiled at him tenderly, seductively.

“Darling,” she said, her voice soft and low, “aren’t you glad to see me? Even a little bit? Your bride-to-be?”

He stared at her face but could no longer see any beauty there. She was grotesque. He moved away from her, to the dead fireplace, and became absorbed in watching the dying flame of the taper resting on the mantel.

Jeanette broke into a laugh, betraying the power she felt. Dramatically she moved around the room. “THE BRIDE OF DRACULA! Oh, excuse me. It’s de Villier, isn’t it? How silly of me to make such a mistake. Mr. and Mrs., no, Count and Countess de Villier. It has a certain ring to it, don’t you think?” She hugged herself, laughing harder.

When had she become a monster? She looked to him quite insane. He intended his words to sound deadly. “Only a fool or a madwoman would believe herself invulnerable. You jest in a situation which is about to turn against you.”

She laughed again, though not as ghoulishly as before. She walked over and took his hands in hers. He didn’t resist. “Oh, Julien, you’re so serious! And there’s really no problem. I’m here, with you. Isn’t that what you wanted all along?” She touched his face and he broke the contact to move back to the window.

“Darling, what’s wrong? I’m here. Why are you being so cold to me? We’re together now. We’ll be married soon and—”

He was on her in a second, grabbing her hair, pulling her face back and under his. “There will be no marriage!” he shouted, as though a great gulf existed between them. “Tomorrow you will leave here, leave Vienna and leave Austria. You will leave, or else.”

“Or else what? You’ll kill me?” Jeanette laughed. But this laugh held no humour at all. Immediately she became serious. She loosened his grip on her hair. “It’s a little late for threats.”

She watched him and Julian knew his eyes betrayed the impotent fury he felt.

“Darling,” she said softly, touching his arm with a tenderness that matched her voice. He brushed her hand away as he would an annoying insect on a hot sticky night. “You want me and I want you. I want to be with you, for eternity. That’s why I’m here. It’s true I’m not your slave, but wouldn’t you rather have a friend? Somebody to be with you and share everything? We can have it all, Julien, and we can be together. Just you and me. Honestly, I don’t want revenge. The past is over. This is a new life for me. You must have experienced that at one time yourself. I’m here because I want to be with you.”

She stepped towards him until her body pressed up against his, then wrapped her arms around his waist. “We can share it all. There’s so much we can have and do together.”

He felt paralysed. Her words were logical and illogical at the same time and left him torn between what he desired most and what he trusted least—the woman before him.

She smiled up at him sweetly then moved her face close to his. Her voice cajoled and enticed. “Can vampires make love to other vampires?” Her lips moved towards his...

He shoved her away. Distrust drove him out of the room as if she were about to devour him.

Jeanette spent a long time thinking. She sensed the scope of his doubts and felt she had a good chance of overcoming them.

Still, something made her uncomfortable. The act she had put on wasn’t entirely phony. Partly she believed what she’d said; for some reason she did want to be with him. But she dismissed those feelings, relegating them to the back of her mind.

Both hunger and exhaustion pressured her, and she chose sleep. She looked at the coffin a long time, equally attracted and repelled. But finally she stepped in and immediately experienced a sense of comfort and safety. Soon the stillness of the undead settled in on her and she gave herself over to nothingness.

Julien raced through what remained of the night, trying to outrun his emotions. He stopped to feed, the only relief from his conflict. No amount of blood or physical exertion would annihilate the confusion, and even the cemetery provided no comfort.

The rational part of him said to get as far away from Jeanette as quickly as possible. The emotional part urged him to take what he so desperately longed for. Hours passed and the opposing forces refused to reconcile.

Finally he made his way back to the castle, hoping that sleep would-release him. He expected she would still be there and only hoped that she was asleep and wouldn’t force another confrontation.

When he entered his room he saw Jeanette at rest in his coffin. Her white-gold hair spilled over the black satin pillow. Her face was relaxed, peaceful. Unthreatening. The candle wax had melted down and the flame died. The dark quiet room offered some comfort.

Exhaustion dropped onto him like a lead weight. Only sleep would help, if help was possible. He closed the shutters tightly, and the casements, then drew the heavy curtains across the window. After undressing, he got in beside her.

Not since Gaetan had he slept with another, and it felt strange. Jeanette lay on her side, apparently anticipating his return. Her naked body touching his triggered the anguish of the inner warfare again. But in his weariness, Julien discarded it as he would the body of a lifeless victim. As sleep crowded in on him, his last thoughts slid around the musky scent of her, the cool smooth flesh pressed up against his own.

CHAPTER FIFTEEN
 

While the late afternoon sun hid behind the sombre clouds drifting over the castle, Herr Klinger awoke from an unusually long and troubled sleep.

Later he would confide in Jeanette, telling her a dream he’d had that night of his childhood summer home in Schonfeld. In the nightmare, everything appeared as it had been then, the farm lands, the two-hundred-year-old house, the cattle, his parents, his two brothers. The only difference, one which caused him considerable anguish throughout the deep sleep, was that everyone in the dream seemed dead. The movements of his family were stilted, and their voices flat, devoid of life. At their approach, Gustav Klinger ran, desperate to save his life.

When he’d started into consciousness, thick beads of sweat had poured from his body, and his heart beat erratically.

Julien and the new vampiress awoke simultaneously into the quiet and darkness of the room. Instantly he was aware of two things: the sun had not yet set; Jeanette lay beside him. Distance and distrust returned.

Jeanette smiled when their eyes met, then hugged him. He neither rejected nor accepted the affection. Instead, he studied her.

The new child of the night was out of the coffin quickly. “Good morning, or is it good evening, darling? Sleep well?”

He did not bother with a reply.

“Now, what am I going to serve Mr. Klinger for breakfast? I guess you don’t keep any food around, at least not the kind he might enjoy. Maybe I can find some leaves in the garden and make him a cup of tea, at least. I’ll tell him you only drink herbals.”

She stopped in her tracks. “But I can’t go out yet, can I? Not until the sun sets?”

He didn’t offer any alternatives.

“Well, it’ll be dark soon. We can all have a liquid meal,” she giggled.

Julien lay in the coffin watching her every movement. His brain felt about to split in two as distrust of his distrust took over. Before him was the woman he wanted, needed, and had worked so hard to form. And yet he was leery of her for the very reason that she was here, with him, now.

If all had gone according to plan, if she had submitted to him, he would not for a moment have questioned. But for her to be with him through choice! Inconceivable.

Considering her rebelliousness again, Julien could only believe that she was trying to trick him. She must be planning to repay him for what he had done to her. But, then again, there she was, standing before him, smiling at him, seemingly happy to be with him.

“You know, darling,” Jeanette said as she wrapped herself in his long dark cape, folding and tucking it into a sarong, “marriage will do your reputation a lot of good. You’re so shrouded in mystery that it can only shatter people’s suspicions. And I know there are suspicious people in Vienna, just like everywhere else. People talk.” She pulled her silky hair back into a ponytail, tying it in place with one of his ties. “It’ll give you respectability again. We can move to another country, if you like. Maybe Canada. We can start a new life, one more integrated with the rest of society. Just because we’re different doesn’t mean we have nothing in common with human beings. We can buy a house, make a few friends, go to late-night parties, the ballet...we can do whatever we want!”

Her idiotic monologue forced him out of the long box. He prepared to shoot down her illusions. “My dear, if you believe you can commune with mortals, you are far more disturbed than I suspected. You will come to discover that you have nothing in common with anyone, not even your own kind.”

But she only laughed that laugh, as though he was the naive one. “Oh, Julien, that’s silly. Everybody likes the theatre, for example. What’s to stop us from inviting another couple. We can have them over for a drink, the occasional dinner and conversation—”

“You exist in a dream,” he said coldly, dressing quickly. “And when you do not partake of the food you serve your guests?”

She hugged him in a child-like way. “There are ways to get around these things. Maybe we can both be students of one of those weird diets that are so popular. We’re health nuts. We drink fresh juices, and fast a lot. There are people like that. I know a few. And, Julien! We can have children!”

While the idea seemed to strike her as pure brilliance, it only confirmed to him her mental disabilities. “Children?” he sneered.

“Yes! Wouldn’t that be wonderful? And it would be so easy. We can take children and make them like us. Families are less conspicuous than just two people together. I’ve always wanted children, haven’t you?”

Julien stared at her in disbelief. On the one hand he felt assured of her insanity. And then, on the other... All the things he had longed for and been deprived of for several lifetimes were being offered to him as possibilities. Perhaps. Yes, he thought, it may be possible. But no sooner had he thought that then he thought the opposite. No, impossible! He had a grip on his reason again. These ridiculous ideas proved she was crazy. Leading any semblance of a normal mortal life was out of the question. He must either destroy her, or get away from her quickly, before she sucked him into her madness.

And then his desires took hold again. He drifted back and forth as he had the night before, coming to no conclusions.

Jeanette left the room as soon as the sun set. She felt that setting in every muscle of her body, which seemed to relax from the vice grip that kept her nearly immobile. The sky was still uncomfortably light but she managed to pick some leaves from the shaded area behind the castle, washing them under the hand pump. She found a well-rusted pan in what had once been the kitchen. It took some doing but eventually she got it clean enough to boil water in.

Herr Klinger jumped as she opened the door. “Oh, I’m sorry if I startled you, Gustav. It’s only me. I brought you some mint tea. Unfortunately this is the only kind we have. I guess you know that Julien’s been the disciple for many years of Arnold Erhat and sticks pretty closely to his diet. Only natural foods and a lot of fasting. That’s probably why he’s so thin. But, he’s certainly healthy. He looks young for his age.”

Klinger looked confused, perhaps not quite seeing the count as looking younger than his years of record.

She handed the tin cup of tea to the attorney. “I hope you like it. Spearmint is one of the more pleasant herb teas.”

Klinger sniffed at the steaming liquid like a man with a strong distaste for the unusual. “This is very kind of you Jeanette,” he said, putting the cup aside.

She went to the window and looked out at the evening sky, still aglow with fading embers. The light hurt her skin and annoyed her eyes, forcing her away from the window.

She moved through the room as if she had lived in the castle all her life, and this very room had been one of her favourite haunts. On impulse, she sat on the edge of the bed.

Klinger joined her. “I think it’s wonderful that you two are engaged. I’m sure married life will affect the Count in a most positive way.”

Jeanette took the compliment graciously. She knew his real thoughts—how could a beautiful, congenial woman such as she possibly be interested in the cold, austere, uncommunicative man who lived in this strange and desolate place. Klinger could be helpful and it would be wise to win him over.

“It’s so terribly dreary here, Gustav. I’ll be glad to get away. Our plans are to leave as soon as possible and live in Canada. I have several cousins there. It’s a marvellous country and they say that parts of it even resemble Austria, would you believe? Anyway, Julien and I were just talking this afternoon about a quick move. Of course, we’ll be married in Vienna tonight and—”

“Tonight! So soon? But, that’s not possible. You only arrived yesterday. And it’s already evening. I can’t remember the last time I slept so long! And the arrangements! Why, this will be the biggest wedding of the year, in Vienna, and even Europe, for that matter. Two young, attractive people like yourselves, and undoubtedly two of the wealthiest people in the world. Jeanette, you’ve got to give some thought to the publicity—”

“No, Gustav, that’s just the point. We want to avoid publicity at all cost. We’re planning to marry quietly at the Courthouse tonight. I’m sure we can find a judge, even after regular business hours. And I hope you’ll stand as a witness for us.”

“Well, of course, that goes without saying. I’d be honoured. But—”

“Actually, Gustav, other than the government people, you’ll be the only one to know. And as to the inheritance, well, we’d like to keep that as low-key as possible too. Aside from my, uh, the attorney in London, I doubt anyone else knows who the heirs are. No,” she smiled endearingly, “we don’t want any notoriety. I know that a man in your position is more aware than many of how one’s private life can become public almost overnight. We’re both too reserved for that, especially Julien. It wouldn’t do his heart one bit of good. But naturally you know about his condition.”

The attorney, who more than once had suspected the Count did not even possess a heart, replied, “Uh, yes, of course.”

“So we’ve chosen the quiet life. Even down to being silent investors, but we can talk about business later. I know we can count on your discretion. You’ve been a friend as well as a counsellor to Julien and your father to his father too, I understand.”

“My grandfather also,” beamed the attorney, taking obvious pride in the long contact and letting the word friend conjure up new images of his relationship with his client.

“Of course, now that our finances have grown so rapidly, your services will be called on more often. I’d be honoured if you’d represent me as well as Julien. I hope you’ll still have time for us. Naturally your fees will be adjusted.”

“Jeanette, don’t worry yourself in that regard. I’m happy to be of service to both of you. And I can see that you’ve got a good head for business, which is rare in a woman, no offense intended, of course. You can certainly count on my help and support in all areas.”

Jeanette saw the effect her words had on him, and excused herself, leaving the patronizing Mr. Klinger with dollar signs in his eyes, knowing he would willingly do whatever she wanted.

Julien stood by the window, shutters partially open, letting the cool clean mountain air soothe his skin. He felt calm. He had resolved to leave. At least he had made a decision. She would be bored within two weeks and move on and then he would return. It was the only alternative that he could face.

Jeanette burst into the room full of excitement. “Oh, Julien, there you are! We’ve got to get ready for the trip to Vienna with Herr Klinger. It’s lucky for us he’s so pliant. And he’s agreed to be a witness.”

“Are you mad! Whatever your bizarre plan, I shall terminate it now.”

Agitated, he strode across the room to her but she didn’t seem to notice. She was busy sorting through the clothing she’d taken from the woman in the bar. “This dress is simply abominable. It’s not really my size or style, and the colour is atrocious. Some people have no taste. I’ve got to buy something new for the ceremony, and you should too.”

Frustrated, he took her roughly by the shoulders, forcing her to listen. “There will be no marriage! Try to allow this into your head, which is apparently vacuous. Since you are so eager to remain here, I shall leave. But there will be no marriage!”

But Jeanette just smiled at him, that bewitching smile that drove him crazy. “Darling, there’s nothing to be afraid of. I know you’ve been doing things the same way for a long long time and I think, because of that, you don’t realize there are other, maybe even better ways of doing things. It’s all settled. I’ve talked to Gustav and he’s virtually sworn to secrecy, or at least I’ve bought his secrecy about the marriage and even the inheritance. He wants to be a richer man and, fool that he is, he’s not so stupid that he’ll miss his chance just to get his name in the papers as our attorney. Darling, it’s all settled, so relax. We have everything and what’s most important, we have each other.”

He felt confused again. Her words were so logical. So hopeful.

Almost as if echoing his thoughts she said, “I’ve thought it all out logically. Everything’s been taken care of.”

A shred of reason came to his rescue. “And have you thought of identification? Neither you nor I, my dear, officially exist.” It was, he concluded, an insurmountable problem.

Jeanette laughed and took his hands in hers. “Oh, Julien! For a man of your social standing and wealth, you don’t seem to have the vaguest idea of the value of money. If one doesn’t have identification, one simply purchases it. You must have altered your handwriting so you could pass yourself off as the next generation. You’ve got a passport already or you wouldn’t be able to travel. I can buy a fake one too. And Klinger will vouch for us so there won’t be any problem getting a marriage licence. Money, let me assure you, can buy practically anything.”

He knew she was right. The black market that existed the world over could provide what they needed. Yet, still, he resolved to leave. But what excuse could he give his attorney? How much did the man know? How much did he suspect? Perhaps it would be best if Klinger were to be found dead.

As Julien’s mind ambled down this path, Jeanette left him to dress, or rather, first, to undress.

She freed her long hair, shaking her head so that the strands cascaded and undulated around her shoulders. Then, casually, she tossed it back behind her. She let the cape slide slowly and sensuously down her body.

Julien was distracted from his thoughts. The slender back and derriere, deliciously curved, skin soft... She turned from the waist. Breasts full, nipples like ripe succulent fruits, inviting his lips... She caught his eye. Slowly she moved towards him, her voice low and resonant, stirring him. “You never answered that question I asked last night. Can you fuck me?”

Against his better judgement, Julien reached out for her.

He ran his fingers down that flesh, from her neck to her right breast, and his hunger grew.

Jeanette undid the buttons of his shirt and slid the fabric down his torso. Sinewy muscles, taut, an animal prepared for movement. She undid his pants and slipped a hand inside, making him hard.

He caressed her nipple, tweaking it with his fingers, sending pleasure/pain through her, making her moan. Then he moved his hand down her chest, her stomach, lower, past the moist hairs between her legs and up inside her. Wild tremors rocked her body. Her vagina contracted sharply. She shuddered, aroused by the sensations, slightly frightened.

They kissed, faces, lips, his mouth to her breasts one at a time, all while her hand felt his penis, so hard, quivering a little. She knew that any inklings he’d had of her betrayal were leaving him rapidly as his body obliterated his thoughts.

He lifted her up in his arms, and she laughed, delighted at his old-fashioned ways. He took her to the darkest corner of the room and knelt to the floor, laying her down, then himself on top of her. He tried to enter her immediately but she closed her legs. With her fingernails she teased the hairs on his chest.

“Wouldn’t it be sexy if we could suck blood from each other while we fuck?” she whispered in his ear, moving her wet tongue between the crevices and folds.

“It is possible,” he said huskily.

“Well, my darling, you’ll have to show me how. You have centuries of experience. I want you to teach me all about pleasure.”

He pried her legs apart with a speed and energy she had not anticipated, then pushed himself inside her, making her gasp.

She felt totally filled with him. like a wild animal in heat, instinct took over. She grabbed onto his body, nearly puncturing his skin with her nails, and pulled him in deeper. She wrapped her legs tightly around his waist and moved her pelvis in a syncopated rhythm with his.

Julien’s only thought was that he wanted her. Everything else gave way to this driving obsession.

His felt hard, electric, his cock a lightning rod attracting pleasure. He increased his momentum and their movements aligned. With each thrust she seemed to draw him in towards her inner sanctum, towards ecstasy. Finally, when he was where he wanted to be, he let go. In that split second their final squeeze and thrust met and barriers collapsed as they joined together.

What had separated them no longer seemed relevant to Julien. He now felt that what had appeared to be too good to be true was actually real. He had waited for her a long time and finally she was his. He was coming to trust her. Already he felt himself to be a small part of her. He wanted to depend on her, open himself up to her, to love and protect her.

As they lay together in silence, Jeanette in the crook of his arm, she acknowledged a truth about intimacy: his distrust, as eternal as a glacier, was receding rapidly. She had expected it would. She would bide her time. She, too, now had all the time in the world.

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

The ceremony was over quickly, the event ran smoothly, just as Jeanette had predicted.

She had managed to buy a dress the colour of jade with a dark brown quilted suede yoke and small pieces of copper appliqué on the front. Her shoes matched the green, and she wore copper and malachite jewelry—green brought out the colour of her eyes. She found a stylist who plaited her hair into a French braid. She looked exquisitely beautiful to him. And he knew by contrast he looked incredibly drab. She had tried to convince him to buy a stylish suit, but he resisted change. Apparently she knew what to push for and when to let a matter slide.

The judge who married them seemed both impressed and slightly unnerved. Klinger assured Julien the man was a tad overwhelmed, meeting the notorious, reclusive Count de Villier, and his stunning bride; he had been sworn to secrecy.

As they left the courthouse, Julien felt bewildered. In his day weddings had been great pageants, festive, colourful, filled with music, food and good humour. Now, it seemed, one merely signed a few papers. Entirely practical, yet somehow it lacked a certain élan.

Gustav Klinger, the sole witness, was, by far, the most enthusiastic member of the wedding party. “Please, let me take you both out to dinner. We need a celebration, some champagne! I’ve already made reservations at the Belvedere Stockl where the pheasant is excellent this time of year. They’re expecting us shortly. Unless you don’t like pheasant—not everyone does, you know. All the bones, and the gamey taste. On the other hand, we might go to—”

“Oh, Gustav, we’re so sorry to disappoint you. Our plane leaves soon, and we just don’t have the time. But the thought is sweet,” Jeanette assured him. She examined the simple gold wedding band Julien had given her—it had belonged to his mother. Despite its age—over 500 years—it sparkled as if it were new. He’d kept it in good condition, but then again, 24 carat gold tended to last.

“I hate to be so unromantic,” she said, “but it might be a good idea if we talk a little about the inheritance. Can we go to your office?”

“Well, yes, of course.”

Julien seemed only mildly curious about her suggestion.

When they arrived, Klinger drew three cabriole chairs into a cosy circle near his desk. Julien and Jeanette sat silently enduring the attorney’s congratulations and extended good wishes for their future until finally Jeanette interrupted.

“Gustav, I’d like to talk about the inheritance. Julien and I expect there will be more holdings than actual cash in the estate, although we have no way of knowing yet. What we would like is this. There are plans for a new solar energy components plant to be built in West Germany. I have it on good authority that it’s an excellent investment. We’d like you to represent both of us.”

She turned to Julien for confirmation.

He did nothing and said nothing, waiting to find out what this was about.

“When you’ve received the information on the estate, get in touch with us and I’ll give you instructions as to which stocks and real estate to sell. I want at least half a million pounds free to purchase a controlling interest in that plant.”

“Jeanette,” Klinger said, looking first to her, and then to Julien, “are you sure? I don’t mean to question your source but, well, I was wondering how much experience you’ve had with international trading. Half a million is a lot of money. It’s a big risk. I’ve never even heard of this plant and surely I’d have run across it if it’s worthwhile. I dabble in the market myself occasionally. Maybe we’d better look into this a bit more. Why don’t I check the company out for you—”

“Gustav,” she interrupted in a strained voice, “while I certainly respect your opinion, I’m quite determined in this matter and I hope that you respect my decisions.”

Julien studied her. Unquestionably it had been her ability to make correct decisions in the stock market which had quadrupled the money she’d inherited from her parents. Yet he could not understand her insecurity—and that’s how it looked to him. Of course, he had taken the bulk of her estate as a further means of control. But even so, the ten per cent he’d left her was an enormous sum of money. With so much there was little need to accumulate more, especially so urgently. And they needed very little. He remained silent and far more patient than the attorney. But then, he knew more.

Herr Klinger, aware he’d offended Jeanette on some basic level, quickly went about making amends. “Of course I’ll do as you wish. I’m here to serve you both, as a friend and as your attorney. I was only suggesting that we get as much information on this company as we can before proceeding. It doesn’t hurt to be cautious.”

Jeanette’s face showed her disapproval and apparently Klinger read it correctly. “Naturally, Jeanette, if you want those shares, you’ll have them. Immediately. Where should I forward the information when it arrives? Maybe you can leave me your itinerary for the next month or so.”

“That is out of the question!” Julien said.

“What Julien means, Gustav, is that we’re just not sure where we’re going after Paris. Why don’t I get in touch with you on Thursday. You should have received something by then.”

Julien could see Klinger’s thoughts as clearly as if they were displayed on a television screen. He knew the attorney felt intimidated by him, and he intended to keep that relationship. He also knew Herr Klinger thought them an odd couple, and couldn’t fathom what they had in common—like summer and winter, disparate seasons, one far more desirable than the other. Despite Klinger’s apparent buffoonery, the man was shrewd, and discrete—aggravating wealthy clients would be foolhardy.

Julien brought Klinger’s thoughts and the meeting to a close. “My dear, we must depart. There is much to do before leaving Austria.”

Both he and the attorney stood, but Jeanette remained seated. She stared up at the two, a perplexed look on her face “Maybe you’re right,” she said, her voice vacant, dreamlike. Finally, she rose from her seat The attorney noticed her state and laid a fatherly hand on her shoulder. “Don’t you worry about a thing, Jeanette. As soon as the cash is available, I’ll buy up that company for you. Don’t trouble yourself with even a thought about it Just go and enjoy yourself. Both of you. By the time you call me, I’m sure everything will be nearly settled.”

Jeanette saw everything as though in a dream. She felt frightened by the unreality sweeping through her.

Julien took her arm and led her from the building to a small park down the street. They sat on a stone bench near the fountain, across from the bandstand.

“Julien, something’s wrong. I feel sick or, I don’t know... Off, somehow. The light. I can’t stand it. It’s killing me.”

Julien folded his arms across his chest and stared at the people walking by.

Her shallow breathing became hesitant. Jeanette stared at her arms and legs—so pale! Her stomach hurt. She clasped her hands prayer fashion on her knees, then bent over, resting her head on her hands. “The light...it’s making me sick. Why? It’s so strong. I feel like I’m dying.”

Julien eyed her briefly. “It is many hours until dawn. These cannot harm you,” he said, indicating the street lamps. He laid a hand on her head and gently stroked her hair. “You require time to accustom yourself to any brightness other than the indirect light of the moon. Your body has changed and you must gradually conform to these changes. But you were upset by something even before.”

She sat pensively silent. Inside, all felt frozen, and rather than thaw her, the glow of the incandescent light seemed to accentuate that feeling. “That man Klinger. He made me angry. Really angry. I wanted to kill him, just because he’s so stupid. He just doesn’t understand and it’s all so clear. It’s almost as if he’s blind.”

Julien removed his hand from her head.

She stared up at him, feeling like a child looking to a parent, hoping to hear that, yes, Santa really does exist, Virginia. But she also felt the contrast between them. She was a baby, he seasoned, weathered, old enough to have seen everything the world has to offer. He knew just what to expect.

Julien did not know what to say. Her illusions were great and reality so grim by comparison that he wanted to soften it for her. What he ended up saying sounded trite.

“Perhaps you need nourishment. It is best to drink sufficiently early in the evening to sustain yourself until dawn. You may drink the blood more often, if you prefer. You cannot take sustenance during the daylight hours. In fact, you may find that you are as yet too weak to tolerate even subdued light. But the more you drink, the stronger you will become.”

From the look on her face, he knew she was aware of his hedging.

“That’s not what’s wrong. You know what I’m talking about. It’s the way I saw him that’s different. It’s as though I have sight and he’s blind. Why? Why do I see that way?”

He couldn’t look her in the eye.

“Julien, I feel so different from Klinger. And it’s not just him. I’ve noticed it before. It’s almost as if they’re from another world.”

Suddenly she bolted upright, startled. She had answered her own question.

He took one of her cool hands in his. “You are different. All that formerly bound you to them is severed and you must grasp this truth. Death is like birth.” He paused until a woman pushing a baby carriage passed. “You have stepped beyond a chasm of time and experience which can never again be bridged. One thing you must know is that when you take the blood you take the life inside you also. You will experience all there was of that life in a condensed version. At best they are as pets to us and at worse, irritating insects. They cannot truly harm us. But when you have drunk many lives you will know more than the sum of the parts and you will be as a god in relation to any one of them.”

She opened her mouth to speak but he cut her off.

“There is more that you should know. The fundamental difference between our kind and these mortals cannot be reconciled.” He took her chin in his hand and forced her eyes to meet his. “You, my love, have experienced your own death as well as the deaths of each of your victims. Because of that you are death personified. You engage them in a danse macabre. They will humour you, insult you, threaten you, and fear you. But never can they admit to loving you. You know them too well.”

Her face documented the horror she felt. It was as if an impenetrable clear plastic wall had dropped between her and the rest of the world leaving her locked inside herself, alone. “You’re telling me I’ll never get out again and no one will get in. I’m a walking archetype.”

He knew how she felt. For Jeanette, even more than for himself, the awareness after death was shattering. She carried with her a need that could not tolerate isolation.

A loneliness hit Jeanette, one she had never known before. And she felt helpless to alter it. Now she was an outsider, cut off from all that had ever mattered to her. She doubted she would ever again feel close to humanity.

Julien tried to comfort her. “Your experiences will be far fuller than you can imagine. There is much awaiting you which formerly had been beyond your scope. And I will be with you. You need not be alone.”

His words held little consolation. Jeanette entered a small room inside herself. She locked the door and pocketed the key, afraid to come out, fearful of what else she might learn which would cause her even greater pain.

Her state forced him to trace his own experience. He viewed the centuries of isolation like layers of bricks walling him in, encasing him.

But within his memory, Gaetan and Simone beamed like illumination at the end of a dark tunnel. Briefly, with each of them, he had not felt alone.

He clung to those memories as though they were life-lines preventing him from sinking into a quicksand of despair. For him, there was only hope.

Jeanette evoked his compassion. He wondered how long it would take her to accept the reality of their existence. Until she faced the isolation, nothing would change.

Keenly sensing the hour, he led her to the airport. She was remote and remained so throughout their flight. Only when they entered the City of Light did she seem to revive temporarily. But he suspected it was the hunger which had resurrected her from the internal crypt where she had cloistered herself.

They secured rooms at Le Bristol on Faubourg Saint-Honore, and enclosed themselves against the daylight, letting sleep overtake them.

The following evening, after they had fed, Jeanette went off by herself. Three hours later she returned to the hotel, and she was not alone.

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

“Mon cher! I’m so glad you’re here.” Jeanette spoke French with a Parisian accent, the result of a formal education.

Her mood had changed completely, as had her hair. All of the full luscious blondness that Julien loved had been cropped, leaving a short sharp angled style, heavily streaked with pink and purple.

“Darling, I want you to meet Renault and Célie le Clerc.” With a spectacular smile and grandiose gestures, Jeanette presented a wobbly, happily-intoxicated couple.