A Monster's Coming of Age Story

by G. D. Falksen

  * * * *

  They finally arrived at Grandfather’s estate a few days later. In an instant, Babette was at peace. All the madness and chaos of recent events faded away at the sight of the neatly trimmed trees flanking the drive leading up to the house. As Luka turned the carriage down the drive, Babette exhaled and allowed the calmness of the ordered landscape to fill her.

  She was home.

  Chapter Nineteen

  Normandy, France

  Babette paused at the front door, uncertain of how to proceed. It had been nearly ten years since she had been home. Grandfather’s house felt strange, like an idea of comfort rather than comfort itself. Just the sight of the old familiar place summoned up memories. Was it right to destroy them with an infusion of reality?

  The question was answered for her as the door opened to reveal Vatel, a little older than she remembered but still in good health. He stared at her in silence for a moment before smiling in delight.

  “Mademoiselle Varanus, welcome back,” he said. “We spied your carriage approaching down the drive. The Messieurs Varanus await you in the parlor.”

  “Thank you, Vatel,” Babette said.

  “And may I inquire as to the identities of your companions? Monsier Varanus will be most eager to meet them.”

  Meaning that Grandfather was extremely suspicious of her unannounced arrival in the company of strangers.

  Iosef took a step forward and addressed Vatel:

  “You may inform the master of the house that Prince Iosef Shashavani has come to call on him.”

  Vatel’s eyes widened ever so slightly.

  “Of course, my lord,” he said. “Please, follow me.”

  “Very good,” Iosef said. “My manservant Luka will attend to the carriage.”

  “As you wish, my lord,” Vatel said.

  Babette followed Vatel into the house with Iosef at her side. They entered the parlor, and she saw Father and Grandfather seated by the window. They both rose to their feet in an instant as she entered.

  “Prince Shashavani and Mademoiselle Varanus, Messieurs,” Vatel said.

  “Thank you, Vatel, that will be all,” Grandfather said, without missing a beat. “Babette, Prince Shashavani, please join us. It seems we have much to speak about.”

  Babette took a seat in a nearby chair. Iosef did likewise, tactfully choosing one that was not directly adjacent to her. This was just as well, Babette noted, for the chair beside her was already occupied by Korbinian, who smiled at her and kissed her hand without a word.

  “Well,” Father said, “this is unexpected.”

  “That would be a word for it,” Grandfather said.

  “We have never entertained royalty in this house before,” Father added.

  Iosef smiled and said, “It is not quite so exciting as you may think. In Russia, a prince is much like a duke in France.”

  “I am familiar,” Grandfather said. “Nevertheless, it is a great honor. How do you come to be in France? Or indeed, in the company of my granddaughter?”

  “He rescued me, Grandfather,” Babette said, “in Sedan.”

  “Sedan!” Father exclaimed. “What were you doing in Sedan?”

  “Being rescued by Prince Shashavani, evidently,” Grandfather said. He cleared his throat. “Babette, I think that your father would very much like to speak with you in private, to hear about all the things you have been doing since we last visited you in Paris. And in the meantime, Your Lordship,” he said to Iosef, “I wonder if you might join me for an afternoon stroll in the garden? There are one or two things of a horticultural nature that I should like to present to you.”

  Damn it all, Grandfather was going to meddle!

  “Grandfather, I—” Babette began.

  “I would be delighted to do so, Monsieur Varanus,” Iosef said. “I am a keen follower of horticulture myself.”

  Grandfather smiled, showing his teeth, and said, “Good.”

  * * * *

  “You must forgive Vatel,” William said, as he led Iosef through the gardens—now largely bare or withering with the onset of autumn. “I fear he is not experienced with the nobility of Russia. We ought to address you as Your Illustriousness, am I correct?”

  Iosef flashed a short smile, which quickly faded. For a young man, he seemed remarkably serious.

  “Indeed,” Iosef said, “that would be an acceptable translation. Still, I feel no need to stand on ceremony if you will join me in ignoring it. Lord Shashavani shall suffice.”

  “Tell me, Lord Shashavani,” William said, “if you will pardon my curiosity, what part of Russia are you from? And how do you come to be in France at such a time as this?”

  “I am from Georgia, in the Caucuses,” Iosef said. “The House of Shashavani holds a great estate in Svaneti, in the highlands of that country.”

  “Babette has spoken of you many times,” William said. “You and she have corresponded at length, have you not?”

  “We have,” Iosef said, “for several years, since she and I first met in Vienna.”

  “She has spoken very highly of you,” William said.

  Babette certainly had and at great length when William had been alone with her. Babette had been far less conversant when James was about, not that William blamed her. James would have thought the correspondence improper.

  Iosef bowed his head slightly and said, “I am honored to receive her praise. Your granddaughter is a remarkable young woman. She was so when first I met her, and she has become all the more remarkable since.”

  “I have always thought so,” William said, measuring his tone carefully. “I have always said that she possesses the mind of the scholar.”

  “A scholar,” Iosef said. He seemed to agree, though there was no emotion in his tone. “A doctor now. She is learned, intelligent, and driven. You and her father have good cause to be proud.”

  “That is an unexpected view,” William said. “My neighbors in Society seem rather skeptical about the prospect of a lady doctor.”

  “I have spoken about medicine at length with your granddaughter,” Iosef said. “I have also spoken with many doctors in my time. I can say without fear of contradiction that Doctor Varanus surpasses, or one day will surpass, the great majority of them.”

  Flattery?

  “You truly believe so?” William asked.

  “I do,” Iosef said. “We Shashavani have a great love of knowledge. We are taught to appreciate the wise among us, whoever they may be and wherever they may come from.”

  How very eccentric, William thought.

  Aloud, he said:

  “Well, it is very kind of you to speak so highly of my granddaughter and her aspirations.”

  “Indeed,” Iosef said, “Doctor Varanus is the reason I am in France.”

  “How so?” William asked.

  Iosef motioned to his clothing. His veil was drawn back onto his hat so that he and William could speak face to face, but the rest of his body remained shrouded.

  “We Shashavani suffer from a hereditary condition,” Iosef said. “We suffer pronounced sensitivity to sunlight.”

  “My sympathies,” William said.

  “It is of no matter,” Iosef said. “My family has borne our condition for hundreds of years. We are accustomed to it by now. However, I have decided that it is time to find a cure. It will not vanish of its own accord, and with the progress of science in this marvelous modern age, I thought that perhaps the medical profession here in the West might be able to discover a cure. And, knowing that my dear friend had become a doctor, I naturally made a point to visit France and seek her opinion.”

  “Well, my condolences that your visit coincided with this beastly outbreak of war,” William said. “It is most unfortunate. France is far more tolerable when there are fewer Germans about in the countryside.”

  “So I imagine,” Iosef said. “Tell me, Monsieur, have they penetrated this far west?”

  “No, thankfully,” William said.

  He hardly
expected them to do so, of course. There was little in Normandy to interest the Prussians. Once Paris capitulated, they would have what they wanted.

  “You must stay, of course,” he added, “until it comes time for you to depart France. Unless you have pressing business elsewhere.…”

  “No,” Iosef said. “You are most kind. Luka and I will stay until we depart for England.”

  “Wonderful,” William said. “I will have rooms made up for you. Now, if you will come with me, let me show you the apple orchard. It’s far more beautiful during the spring, but I think the order of it will interest you.”

  He motioned for Iosef to follow him and walked off toward the woods, new plots and plans spinning in his head.

  * * * *

  To Babette’s surprise, Grandfather took to the idea of Iosef staying rather well. Even Father came round to it, though it took a great deal of persuading. The official story, Grandfather informed her, was that Iosef had come seeking her medical opinion on his family’s unfortunate condition. Not that the neighbors were particularly nosy, what with the war and all, but Grandfather insisted upon contingency plans.

  Word soon arrived that Paris was under siege, darkening the local mood further. People were sullen and angry, furious at the ongoing offense to French honor. Several times Grandfather went down into town to speak about the sanctity of France and the need for strength and courage in the days to come. As he explained to Babette, however the war ended, it would end with France intact. The last thing a person could dare to be at such a time was an enemy of the nation. When peace finally came, the public would want someone to blame for the shame of defeat, and Grandfather had no intention of letting the shadow of suspicion fall upon his family.

  At the house, life passed quietly. Babette spent much of her time either in study or out riding on the grounds. Most days Iosef joined her, though he went about covered during the daytime. Outdoors this was a matter of course, but even inside this was necessary for the house was bathed in light from the broad windows most hours of the day. While the story about medical treatment was a ruse, Babette did engage in a little study of possible causes. The topic intrigued her, but she made little progress. Still, she enjoyed the challenge that it set for her.

  * * * *

  One evening, Babette awoke to the sound of someone gently knocking on her door. She rose, curious at the disturbance, and put on her dressing gown. The night was clear and the moon was near to full. Moonlight drifted in through the window, casting the room in delicate silver.

  Babette opened the door and saw Iosef, fully dressed, standing in the hallway. He smiled at her pleasantly and bowed his head, as though there was nothing peculiar about his arrival.

  “Good evening, my lord,” Babette said.

  “Good evening, Doctor,” Iosef said in reply.

  “Can I help you in some way?” Babette asked, arms folded across her chest.

  “Yes,” Iosef replied. “I wonder if you would care to join me for a stroll.”

  A stroll?

  “It is the middle of the night,” Babette said.

  “Indeed,” Iosef said, “and the moon is so lovely.” He extended his hand. “Shall we?”

  Babette paused for a moment, considering the decision. It was a terrible idea to accept the offer. Though she had corresponded with Iosef for years, in truth she hardly knew him. Father would go mad if he found out.

  Babette took Iosef’s hand and smiled.

  “I would be delighted, my lord.”

  * * * *

  She followed Iosef out into the night. The air was cold with winter’s approach, but she did not mind it. Indeed, there was something refreshing about the chill, like a dive into icy water early in the morning.

  “We should remove ourselves from the house,” Iosef said, “lest we are seen.”

  “And what if we are?” Babette asked.

  “It might be perceived that we are embarking on an illicit tryst,” Iosef replied.

  “We aren’t?” Babette asked, surprised at the statement.

  Korbinian kissed her on the cheek and asked, “Disappointed?”

  Babette ignored him.

  “No,” Iosef said. For a moment he almost seemed to smirk. “No, we have something very important to discuss. But we should do so away from prying eyes. I believe the far side of the orchard will suffice.”

  Babette raised an eyebrow.

  “That is something of a walk for such a late hour,” she said, “and somewhat dark, even in the moonlight.”

  Iosef looked toward the sky, which made the pale light do something rather magnificent with his profile. Babette took a moment to admire him on principle.

  “He really is a beautiful man, isn’t he?” Korbinian asked. “Of course, not quite as beautiful as I am, but.…”

  Babette smiled and murmured, “Hush.”

  “I find it quite easy to see,” Iosef said, looking back at her, “but then again, there are different considerations in my case.”

  “What considerations?” Babette asked.

  “That is precisely what I wish to speak to you about,” Iosef said. “Shall we go to the orchard?”

  Babette laughed and said, “As you will recall, it is something of a walk. And besides, I have no shoes.”

  “That is a simple matter to settle,” Iosef said.

  Before Babette knew what was happening, Iosef swept her up in his arms. She let out a startled cry but quickly covered her mouth with her hands lest she wake the house.

  “My lord?” she whispered.

  “Remember to breathe,” Iosef said.

  Without another word, he took off through the garden. Taken quite by surprise, Babette threw her arms around his neck to steady herself. She regained her senses after a few moments, and she began to look about, watching as the rose bushes flew past. The line of the orchard appeared out of the darkness and moved steadily toward them.

  A few moments later, the trees were all around them. The moonlight filtered in through the branches, painting the ground in a spiderweb of silver and black.

  Iosef stopped at the far end of the orchard, where it met the open grounds, and set Babette down.

  Babette swayed a little as she regained her balance. Her head swam from the thrill of the run.

  “That was incredible!” she exclaimed. “How did you manage that?”

  “It was nothing,” Iosef said. “A horse could have managed the same, and much faster.”

  “Yes,” Babette agreed, “but you, my lord, are not a horse. You are a man, and men do not run a mile and a half on uneven ground, in the dark, while carrying well-bred young ladies, in but a handful of minutes without stumbling once.”

  “When you put it that way, it does sound rather flattering,” Iosef said.

  Babette listened carefully for a moment. Something about him bothered her, something to do with sound.

  Breathing.

  “You’re scarcely breathing,” Babette said. “You should be gasping for air after a run like that.”

  “Indeed,” Iosef said.

  Babette reached out with one hand and placed it against Iosef’s chest. His body felt cool to the touch.

  “My God,” Babette said with a gasp. “You should be hot and short of breath. But you’re as cold as the night air. You scarcely breathe. And your heart! I can’t even feel it beating.”

  “You find this impressive?” Iosef asked.

  “Astounding!” Babette exclaimed. “How is this possible?”

  “This is as nothing,” Iosef said. “I can rest submerged in icy water for hours with neither pain nor fatigue. I could have carried you at a run around the entire circumference of your Grandfather’s estate without tiring. Here in the moonlight, I can see as clear as day. I can hear your heart beating, each breath that escapes your lips, and, just as clearly, the rustling of the trees that ring the grounds.”

  “How is that possible?” Babette asked. Surely it could not be true. “This is part of your family condition, isn�
�t it?”

  Iosef smiled for a moment and said, “Very good.”

  Babette looked into his blue eyes, which glinted in the dim light like those of a cat.

  “What are you?” she asked.

  “‘What,’” Iosef said, smiling more broadly than Babette had seen before. “Now that is a very perceptive question.”

  “And you have given me a very evasive answer,” Babette said.

  Iosef nodded. “Yes, I have.” He paused. “Tell me, Doctor, are you familiar with the concept of the vampire?”

  “What, Polidori and such nonsense?” Babette asked. “The drinking of blood and the ravishing of women?”

  “Not quite,” Iosef said, “but it is a place to start.”

  “I know that the tales come from among the Slavs,” Babette said. “Something to do with corpses raised from the dead.”

  Iosef looked at her, seemingly astonished at her method of summation.

  “As I understand it!” Babette protested. “I do not make a habit of studying Serbian folklore. There are far more important things to occupy my time. Or do you mean to tell me that you are a ‘vampire?’”

  “In a manner of speaking, yes,” Iosef said. “The vampire is a conjecture derived from truth. The folk tales were first created by men who saw but did not understand, then passed down to men who had not even seen, generation upon generation until what remained was awash in ignorance and superstition. And worse, now here in the West, your Polidori and Byron and Varney the Vampire have transformed the myths into cheap amusements, all but devoid of truth.”

  “So your kind is the origin of the vampire?” Babette asked. “But surely, Georgia is not a Slavic land.”

  “Indeed it is not,” Iosef said, “and there is good reason why the myth has arisen elsewhere. You see, we Shashavani are careful to conceal our nature from prying eyes. We are scholars as well as kings and warriors. We seek understanding, a task that becomes remarkably difficult when ignorant peasants try to burn your house down. But, alas, from time to time there have been some among our order who become seduced by power. Those who lack the will to withstand such temptation are exiled. Some settled in the Balkans, some on the Magyar plain, and still others in the shadow of the Carpathians. And I fear they have inspired some rather disreputable views on our order.”