Jacques took the glass and drank some of it handing the rest to Lucien who gulped it all down. “We are as blood kin, linked by a custom stretching back hundreds of years.”
Lucien was trembling with his good fortune.
The Count wanted to drink them dry while fucking them both before devouring their souls.
Lucien’s erection was fit to burst. He sighed as Claudette slipped his cock into her gorgeous mouth. He didn’t care who watched the display, but fortunately they inhabited a dark corner of the café. He pushed his hips off the chair.
Jacques did the gentlemanly thing and three-fingered her moist opening. While all three enjoyed the moment, Jacques described in detail just how insatiable Claudette was.
The Count activated Lucien’s vivid imagination, and the scene played out as if from a one reel film, Jacques as the narrator.
Jacques walked Claudette back to her hotel. The moon was full and the stars twinkled above. The air was humid and steamy. He was about to say au revoir when she completely surprised him by asking him to her bed. He whisked her off to her room with only a ceiling fan for comfort against the stifling heat. And with a delicate touch he gently disrobed her to reveal her lithe, sinuous body. He licked the salty trickles running down the back of her neck. She arched her back and sighed.
His tongue traveled to her breasts, circled her erect nipples, and slithered down to her flat stomach that quivered. He buried his face in her eager folds, her ripe petals parting like a rose in sunlight. She gripped his head and thrust her hips as her first orgasm rippled her skin with exquisite tingles of joy only a woman can understand. Claudette gently pushed him away. She got down on her knees and swallowed him whole.
Over the next few weeks Claudette had become insatiable for blood and sex, the two usually going together like strawberries and cream. Jacques couldn’t risk any more exsanguinations at the rampant hands of Claudette or he’d end up at the morgue. He showed her how to entice the wandering adventurers who clambered for action at the city’s roughest areas and spike their drinks with the voodoo white stolen from a Bokor – a voodoo witchdoctor – who had the misfortune to cross Jacques’ path. When they had enough, both booked passage to Marseilles. The only luggage was the voodoo white – Forbidden Kiss.
All three finished their love play as the story ended.
Count Lucien was overjoyed to have captured two perfect companions for his grand designs on the unsuspecting populace of Paris. He had someone very special for them to meet and he wondered with considerable excitement if these two had the stomach for his plans. With Machiavellian glee, he couldn’t wait to find out. Like an impatient little boy in a sweet shop, he flagged down the waiter and paid for the wine.
“Where are you staying so I might collect your belongings?” Lucien asked.
“What you see is what you get, man.” Jacques laughed, still a little nervous.
“We’ve been living on our wits ever since we arrived in France,” Claudette added. “The only thing we value is in that bag.” Claudette pointed to Jacques’ duffle bag.
Lucien liked that – they were truly free spirits. He left the café with his new friends and Jacques’ duffle bag full of the white powder.
Chapter 10
LUCIEN, THE PERFECT host at all times, showed Claudette and Jacques around their new home. He was gratified to see the looks of awe as they were shown the extravagantly furnished sitting room with crystal chandeliers beneath ornately carved ceilings depicting acts of perversion. Above the massive fireplace was a nude painting of a stunning red head. The kitchen was cavernous, pots and pans dangling like bodies from meat hooks. Pride of place was taken by an eight ring cooker. Pewter mugs hung from black hooks shaped like demonic erections.
Lucien opened a door from the kitchen and entered the garage. He stood aside as Jacques rushed in.
Jacques’ eyes bulged at the sight of the massive black Mercedes Edwardian Tourer with gleaming brass fittings, complete with running boards and soft top.
“What a beauty.” Jacques turned to Lucien. “May I?”
“Be my guest,” Lucien offered with an outstretched hand.
Jacques opened the driver’s door and sat in the red leather seat. He sighed in almost orgasmic pleasure. “These babies tend to overheat ... it’s the oil you know. Not enough gets to the pistons.”
“I’m well aware of her little foibles. But how do you know so much?” Lucien was intrigued.
“I used to drive for the French Consul.”
“Really?” Despite himself, Lucien was impressed. “She’s all yours then.”
Until I decide otherwise, The Count thought with a smirk.
Jacques was all smiles as he caressed the wooden steering wheel.
Claudette stood at the doorway to the garage and sucked in her breath at such an ostentatious display of wealth. She twirled around like a little girl and screamed with delight. “We’ve got it made, Jacques.”
Jacques laughed along with Lucien.
The proud host took his new comrades upstairs to their room. He opened the door to an expansive bedroom with a huge four-poster bed adorned with black mesh partially concealing black satin sheets and pillows.
“I hope this will be adequate for you both?”
Jacques gave Claudette a curious glance with eyebrows raised.
Claudette giggled. “We’re not married, Lucien ... just good friends.”
“Oh ... I see.” Lucien shrugged. “Well who would like the room?”
“It’s mine!” Claudette ran into the room and dived through the mesh onto the bed, rolling sexually on the cool sheets. She saw a door off the bedroom and frowned to Lucien who gave her a go-ahead look. She squealed like an excited schoolgirl as she raced over and flung open a door to the en-suite bathroom. Her mouth dropped open at the sight of the black enamel bath, toilet, bidet, sink, black-tiled walls and golden fittings. She turned the taps and flushed the toilet.
Claudette ran up to Lucien and kissed him full on the lips. Tears of joy flowed down her face. She grabbed Lucien and danced him around her bedroom.
Lucien gave her a kiss and left Claudette to her own pleasures as he showed Jacques another room of equal proportions, also in black.
Jacques kicked off his shoes and proceeded to make himself at home in his luxurious quarters. As Lucien turned to leave, Jacques enquired, “When do we get to meet the mistress of the house?”
Lucien frowned at Jacques for some time, thinking this man had all the makings of a fine addition to his devious plans. It seemed he didn’t miss a thing – the high-heeled shoes tossed on the leather sofa, the nude painting, the black frilly umbrella in the stand next to the front door and the woman’s black coat hanging on the peg in the hall and the odor of Chanel. He realized how lucky he was to find such a gifted pair to enhance his deadly fortunes.
“When the time is right ... she is rather special ... have you read Dracula?”
“Dracula? I don’t have time for such nonsense.”
“Kill him now!” The Count screamed.
“It’s not nonsense!” Count Lucien said with barely controlled anger. He calmed down. “A pity ... but you have heard of the book?”
“Who hasn’t?” Jacques frowned in thought. “Just how special is this mistress of yours, man?”
“So special she can make you immortal with a kiss.” Lucien was amused by the frown on Jacques’ face.
“Pull the other one, man.”
“We shall see ... if you’re up to it?” Lucien waited for a response.
“Jacques Bonaparte fears nothing.”
“That remains to be seen, my friend.” Before Lucien left he asked, “Oh, by the way, what is your size?”
Jacques gripped his groin and smirked. “More than you can handle.” He laughed.
“Your chest size!”
“One hundred and fifteen centimeters.”
“Oh my, we are a big boy, aren’t we?” Lucien chuckled as he left Jacques looking quite perplexed.
Chapter 11
1st–2nd June
All THROUGH THE night and into the early hours of the morning, Lucien discovered just how useful Claudette was. She and Jacques took no time at all to adapt the small laboratory in the basement that came with the house. The previous owners, who mysteriously vanished, had dabbled in perfumery. Claudette mixed various scented oils with eau-de-toilette and the desired amount of the powder – three desert spoons. The liquid was poured into a spray bottle – declared a suitable means of dispensing the Forbidden Kiss.
Lucien couldn’t wait to try it. He pocketed the spray bottle and left his newfound friends to make themselves comfortable. “My house is your house.”
~~~~
Lucien strolled along the gaudy Pigalle looking for a suitable test subject.
“Over there!”The Count said.
“No need to tell me ... I saw her.”
A pretty young girl plied her trade at a street corner. She saw Lucien and gave him the come-on-and-get-some look, lifting her short skirt to reveal her dark v-patch. They walked down an alley and stopped in a doorway.
He offered the girl a fifty Franc note, spraying her face with Forbidden Kiss. She coughed. To his annoyance, she would not stop coughing, eventually doubling up in pain.
He stepped back and casually waited, counting the time with his watch.
The girl gasped, went as stiff as a board and collapsed to the filthy, litter-strewn ground.
Excellent, thought Lucien. He bent down and felt for a pulse. Oh well, back to the drawing board. That was exactly when her pimp attacked with a wicked serrated blade. Lucien laughed with pure joy, nimbly side-stepped and tripped the man. The Count’s need for blood pinned him face down in the muck, removed a short Japanese sword from his coat and took great delight in permanently adding that filth to the alley.
~~~~
As the moon timidly surrendered its grip to the rising sun Lucien entered his dimly-lit kitchen where Jacques sat drinking steaming hot coffee. Next to him sat Claudette smoking a cigarette from a long, elegant holder – well he did say make yourselves comfortable. Lucien grimaced at the foul stench of tobacco causing his stomach to churn. He saw Claudette’s defiant look and decided to ignore it.
The Count berated Lucien for his cowardice.
“Did the Forbidden Kiss work, man?” Jacques asked.
“Too well, I’m afraid ... it needs to be diluted.” Lucien shrugged offhandedly.
“Shame! When do we get to see her, man?” Jacques licked his lips in anticipation.
“Yes, Lucien ... I want to see your mistress,” Claudette demanded with a petulant pout. “You said she would make us immortal.”
“Patience my eager friends,” he said with an irritated look. He quickly left.
Lucien climbed the stairs to the attic room humming a pleasant tune. He removed a gold key from his pocket and unlocked the door. A pathetic whimpering came from within.
Count Lucien smirked as he entered the room, closing the door behind him and locking it. He ran a long-nailed finger down numerous deep, bloody scratches in the door panel. Oh, how sad! He had to control the need to snicker.
Impaled upon a black candlestick, a flickering candle now close to death, forced his eyes to search the dark shadows for his mistress. The black velvet drapes were drawn shut across the window. He waited for his eyes to adjust to the gloom. Sudden movement! Ah, there you are, my Delicate Rose. His heart quickened as it always did in her presence.
Amongst the darkness which she sought the most hid the ghostly form of his woman in a long, flowing nightgown of black silk. She approached him like an old hag, bent with age. Her gaunt face seemed to float from one shadow to the next, her disheveled hair barely attracting the meager light from the flickering candle. As she drew closer she seemed to become more afraid. She beseeched Lucien with frail arms outstretched and with fingernails broken and bloody.
“I don’t like your new friends ... and don’t even try to use the powder on me.”
Lucien flinched. “You can’t stop me, my sweet, Delicate Rose.” He chuckled with callous delight, gripping his woman’s fragile arms and twisting with open hostility. He smirked at her pain and grasped a handful of hair, forcing her to kneel in front of him.
“When will you let me out, Lucien?” Her dark eyes were filled with tears. “We used to have such fun at the La Rotonde with Soo-Soo, Coco and Ellise.” She became tearful. “The probing drains me.”
“When The Count decides, my lovely Little Rose, you’ll be the first to know.” Lucien stood before her, so superior, relishing in her grief.
“But I must feed now ... I am so weak I can barely stand.”
“Not yet!” He tugged hard on her hair and relished her gasp.
“If I die you will never become Eternal.”
He jolted at the revelation. Upon seeing a momentary look of victory cross her face, he angrily shoved her to the stained wooden floor. He grimaced as she pawed his legs with trembling fingers.
“Please, Lucien, let me drink?” She tried to undo his trousers. “When I’m complete I will let you be my other half.” She smiled with trembling lips.
He kicked her away. “Don’t try to fool me, bitch! I will not succumb to your whore’s ways.” Laughing with derision, he strolled out the door to leave his woman to her misery. He quickly slammed the door shut and locked it, smiling as he heard the distinctive sounds of her fingernails desperately scratching for release. Sighing with rapture, he leaned against the door as if his legs might buckle. He snorted a repressed chuckle.
Lucien entered his bedroom, also cloaked in darkness. Everything was black from the walls to the curtains. He gave life to a black candle. With a sigh of ecstasy, he ran an appreciative hand along the massive coffin that passed for his bed. He got down on his knees and caressed the fine wood. His sword clunked against the floor as he opened the coffin lid and smelled the fresh aroma of new silk and varnish. He couldn’t wait to sleep in it for the first time, as a real vampire.
Lucien gasped as he lay down in the coffin, holding the sword to his side with some awkwardness. It was perfect. He had enough room to turn from side to side. He stepped out of the coffin and walked up to an empty wooden display stand.
Lucien’s distinctive long coat was draped over a black mannequin. At the same time he removed the Japanese short sword from his coat. He slid the bloody blade from its sheath and stroked the steel with a calm reverence, wiping it clean with a black silk handkerchief.
He held his sword with complete adoration. It was his most prized possession of the inanimate kind. The Count reminded him with lurid images of its violent possession.
~~~~
Lucien was on the prowl, having taken a shine to a Japanese businessman on his way to a restaurant.
The Count told him this man must die.
He sat and watched as Saito showed off his elegant katana to a female companion. The Count gasped, instantly falling in love with the gleaming blade.
I must have it!
He followed Saito into the rest room and relieved him of the magnificent short sword with a brief scuffle and a slashed throat.
Lucien snapped out of his memory and sighed. He could lose every franc he owned right now, so long as he had this sword wherever he went, neatly attached to the inside of his custom-made coat. He could not resist running a finger along the side of the blade, sucking the blood from the gash it produced. A sigh of adoration escaped his lips, admiring the exquisite craftsmanship, the way the steel lapped at the edge of the sword like gentle waves on a sun-kissed beach of white sand. He kissed the blade. The sword was sheathed and placed on the stand.
Lucien stepped back and bowed to the forged steel effigy. A sudden thought ripped through his mind. Only four more nights before the moon would be full – the sacred Eternal Hour – six in the morning of the sixth of June 1925. Just four more nights! He pondered what would happen if his mistress could not wait any longer and actually died of hunger. A chill
trembled through his lean body at that thought. No! Now was not the time. She was tricking him with her female wiles. Dawn approached fast. Another day or two would surely put her in the right mood. Sleep grasped Lucien with its inevitable curse.
The Count flooded Lucien’s mind with shocking images of superiority. He was shown gratitude for erasing Saito, a weakling and peace-monger. A flickering movie reel of subconscious design explained The Count’s need for chaos. Bombs destroyed a harbor full of mighty warships. Bodies rotted in death camps, tortured by hideous demons. Jackboots marched across Europe. A demented dictator ruled with chaos and mayhem. He sighed in his dream as history had been set on the right road.
Chapter 12
3rd June
BUT LUCIEN COULD wait no longer as the lure of the silver mistress snatched him from his trance of death. He rushed to the window and spread his arms in exaltation. The moon was almost there – almost full as it crossed the threshold into the early hours. It was still the third night before the Eternal Hour, but his patience had worn too thin.
It was time to introduce his friends to the woman who had captured his festering soul and seduced him with thoughts of blood. Lucien removed the blade from its scabbard and left his bedroom, his beloved Paris was still vibrant at one in the morning.
~~~~
Lucien, Jacques and Claudette stood at the open door watching the haggard mistress trying to remove the bars from the window.
Lucien grinned with pleasure while she tugged with all her frailty, obviously unaware of his presence. A cry of despair left her. She slumped to the floor with her head in her hands and wept.
“Snap out of it, bitch,” The Count mused.
Lucien was satisfied when she struggled to her feet. She stepped from the protection of the shadows and hesitated at the sight of the two strangers standing next to Lucien. She looked afraid, giving Lucien an inquisitive glance from eyes sunken into their sockets, ringed with dark smudges.
The Shadow Box: Paranormal Suspense and Dark Fantasy Thriller Novels Page 182
