We grew restless, seeking new experiences. Long lives can lead to boredom or worse, trouble. Our senses reached out, searching for something different, and Louisiana answered the call.
Chapter Ten
The year rolled over into 1992, we’d spent many years learning to be Americans. Accents suppressed but not entirely conquered, even for the vampire it was a difficult thing. Dress and garb might be different, and yet the same, we had experienced it all. We began to relax, easing into the costume forced upon us.
And yet, Lucius, Isabella, and I sought out the places where the night was celebrated. Louisiana glistened like a beckoning star. Luc had investments in oil futures, technology, and moving markets. And what a better place to check on them than New Orleans? Communication was no longer a problem, travel wasn’t a necessity, but a luxury. Still, the shine of Louisiana drew us with its nighttime splendors, anxious for new experiences. New Orleans became our home as we gloried in all it offered. Its magnificent cemeteries and funeral rituals. Creole and French. Mysticism and magic. Witches and wiccans. Never ones to believe in voodoo and their dolls, we sidestepped the practitioners.
Times changed, and with renewed captivation, I delved deeper into the American existence. New Orleans was everything a vampire could want. They had their own set of superstitions, traditions, and myths. The European gypsies were oddly secretive with their knowledge of magic and the dark arts, but the Americans had them beat. What they didn’t understand became the mystical. Sometimes it became something to fear and at other times, the butt of jokes. Most Americans were bold, frantic to experience everything, to live life fast and hard. Once again, I began to adapt, for the perfect predator readily becomes what is expected.
*
We took apartments in the Garden District, an old antebellum mansion, so much like the Parisian neighborhoods of our long ago memories. The white buildings, side by side, the wide open verandas allowed for the nights to be part of everyday life, enjoyed to the fullest. I recalled all those times when I strolled the Paris streets as human. Reminding me of how I’d become vampire and why, with my own fearlessness of death. I’d been much younger and more gullible then. I held no ill will to the lady, Giselle, who’d cost me my human life, or her possessive lover, the crazed Lord Randall, how could I? Their lives were gone while I stood were I was, ready for a breath of new reality. I couldn’t wait to see Mardi Gras, the parades, the theater of it, the boldness of this American life.
While the Garden District emulated the Paris of old, it was different as well. Where in France the buildings were single-storied, squatted together, here the multiple levels aligned the beauty of the antebellum mansions. The old, majestic southern oaks and magnolias with their pink petals lined the streets and sidewalks, Spanish moss hung heavy from their crooked branches. The air scented with the salty ocean breezes and the floral perfume of the mantled plants. The humans inhabiting varied from the old, southern population to the young people drawn by the rich glory of the area.
I would have enjoyed the opportunity to examine Canal Street’s Grand Theaters, but during the 1960s, they became a fatality to modernization. Thoughts of the Quarter excited my senses. Anything and everything for sale. But I was wiser than I once was. The humans of this city were craftier than those in the wonders of California, but not by much, or maybe I’d become jaded? I wanted to laugh at the games, how they connived, how they sought to trick, nothing escapes the vampire mind.
The one worry left with us was the Council’s plans. The vampires we’d come in contact with hadn’t caught a trace of Loupgarin, but at times, Luc swore he sense the ancient vampire’s presence just outside of his own perceptions. What was the Council and their minions up to?
*
I left our residential area to scout the urbane districts within New Orleans, its clubs and cafes. Le Vierux Carré, the French Quarter, once home to the burlesque shows and the freely sold bodies of Storyville, routed out by the famous Jim Garrison who scoured the clubs to a more honorable nature, or so they said. But it was my experience that beneath that cleaner crust, the seamier belly existed.
For a while, I trekked through the seedier side, digging deeper into the Quarter than was safe for a young man alone. But as it has been said, things are seldom as they appeared, and neither was I. The vampire in me enjoyed the explorations.
Bourbon Street spoke to me, and I found a promising club, The Dream Room, where they claimed to have dancing and live bands—I was hoping for Jazz. The night brings the death of light, but it was denied by the glow emanating from the buildings, the neon signage, and even patrons with their glittering clothes. Bright and bawdy images greeted me on every corner. I entered the building to find the interior a retro design, dimly lit, less gaudy than the exterior suggested. A cafe stood to one side, dance floor and stage on the other.
I took a table at the edge of the burgeoning crowd and glanced at the clientele—blue jeans, tee-shirts, boots, similar to my attire—but a few wore suits and dressy gowns, the scene a cornucopia of artistic design. The coolers barely noticeable, watching over the environs, daring anyone to cause a scene, while the maitre’d hovered over the best-dressed clients. The band played brashly, but the scarlet-clad singer piped the throaty tunes dear to my undead heart, Bluesy-Jazz.
I let my stare roam back and forth over the space, only to catch the gaze of another. He tipped his head to me, rectangular-shaped dark glasses masking his eyes. Interesting in that we were the only ones wearing shades in the dim cabaret, mine smoky gray and rounded. He peered at me over the top of his, and I saw the evidence of what he was, glowing orbs blinked, and he smiled. I inhaled deeply, placing ten more in the vicinity, both men and women, mingling with and throughout the human patrons. I looked around with a keener gaze and spotted others wearing dark glasses. Some lounged in the cafe and others on the dance floor, all paired with humans. So, I’d stumble upon our kind, although my family had already encountered several others. Many vampires walked among these Americans.
He stood and made his way to my table, sliding into the opposite chair. He sat for a moment as if sizing me up. He grinned again and stuck out his hand. “Pierre Le Sanguis Frais,” he introduced himself. “Welcome to New Orleans and the home to Le Sanguis Frais family.”
“Benedict Draco, son of Lucius Draco,” I replied back, taking his cool hand. “It’s a pleasure.”
“Tell me, Benedict,” he said, still holding my hand. “Are you here for a reason or passing through?”
I considered him for a minute. “We’re here for a reason, but maybe not what you think.”
“And what do I think?” he asked.
“It’s nothing to do with the Council.”
He relax a bit, still gripping my hand. “Well, mon cher, that makes me feel somewhat better.”
“Do you mind?”
“I do, actually. But,” he released me, “in the spirit of getting along,” he winked again, “I think I’ll trust you … for now.”
As we had been talking, the others from his crowd had gathered closer.
“Pierre?” I asked. “Should I be worried?”
“Not at the moment, Benedict.”
“Please, call me, Ben.”
He tipped his head again. “Ben, then. And you may call me Pierre.” He smiled, a tip of a canine brushed his lower lip.
“Sorry, I meant no offense.”
“None taken, Ben.” He examined me one more time. “Mind telling me why you’re in my town?”
I sighed, peering back at him. “My father has business interests to attend to. The Council approved our move, we had no idea we were intruding on another’s territory without their permission.”
His gaze took me in once more. “You know, Ben, not all vampires live within the Council’s authority.”
This was something new to me. I’d heard others might live outside the Hierarchy’s rule, but to my knowledge, they didn’t survive long. Pierre and the vampires with him, did not look deprived. Conversely,
he seemed quite prosperous. He played on my curiosity, and I had to ask, “How is it you survive outside the Council?”
He shrugged one shoulder, the man was thin to the point of breaking. If not for the vampire virus, he would have looked fragile, but I knew muscles waited beneath his wan flesh. “It is what it is. We make our own lives. Our own way. Others may not find ours to their liking, but there’s no accounting for taste.”
I had suspected the Hierarchy had their favorites. After discarding us in America without guidance—except to say where we could and could not go, tracking our every move—I had to assume we were not amongst those in good favor. But now I knew. I leaned forward. “The Council knows we’re here.”
“As they know we are here as well.”
It struck me as odd that the Council allowed our entrance, their collective thumb pinning us down to one place or another, and yet, this family lived outside the Hierarchy.
I held out my hand once more, maybe it would be wise to stay on the good side of this bunch. “It’s nice to meet you, Pierre Le Sanguis Frais.”
“Come, join us. For tonight, be part of Le Sanguis Frais family.” He smiled, but his gaze was cold and distant. I’d also come to know not all our kind were to be trusted. Loupgarin had nearly killed me, over what? A centuries old slight? My father’s escape? There was no reasoning.
Pierre Le Sanguis Frais may have said the words of welcome and trust, but the opposite was true and clearly painted on his face. Possibly, the embrace of Le Sanguis Frais was not where I wanted to find myself. I got the distinct impression he did not mean to be friends.
I conceded to his wishes, avoiding any conflict; I didn’t know these vampires, nor the number Pierre might command. When he stood, I followed him to the dance floor.
Two beauties appeared and his lips twisted in a cruel grin. “Feast, mon ami. Take all you desire.”
He jerked one of the women into his arms and she gasped, but as his fangs sunk into her throat, all reason left her eyes. He moved them across the floor until the music ended, then he released her.
She staggered and slipped into the first chair she found, only to be fed from again by another unknown vampire. I could stand no more.
“Enough.” I reached out a hand to the woman, helping her to her feet. “Go. Home.” I pushed her toward the door, watching as she escaped. “Did you mean to bleed her dry?” I asked.
Pierre’s hard gaze met mine. “It would serve you well to remember where you are.” Then again, he smiled, anger evaporating. “Dance, mon cher. Live a little. Come, take what is offered.” He grabbed another woman, shoving her in my direction.
Slowly, the woman and I moved across the floor and as we danced, I learned our new neighbors.
Chapter Eleven
Pierre Le Sanguis Frais refused to leave me that night, insisting I partake when he and the others coerced the humans in the club to join us, feeding without care, hungers ruling them. I was uncomfortable, disturbed by this large group who chose to dine so openly. They were lazy and sloppy, blood drunk and worse. I balked at the manipulation of both the humans and myself. Was this the extent of Le Sanguis Frais family? My senses told me others lingered, hidden within the city.
As dawn approached, I stood to leave.
“Where are you going, my new friend?” Pierre asked, without looking in my direction.
“Time to go home. It’s been fun, but all good things must come to an end.” My beast had circled the room several times, sizing up the prey. It was all I could do to keep it contained. All the blood and feasting … the hunger … the coppery odor that hung in the air. My beast rumbled, and I coaxed it into submission.
His hand reached out to grab my arm. “Stay, we have a place nearby.”
I pulled back, eyes locked on his fingers. “No, thanks, if it’s all the same.” My beast perked up again, ready to take on any unprovoked threat. It demanded freedom, and I thrust it back. I couldn’t chance it, but maybe later—if the vampire proved difficult.
He gave his one shouldered shrug. “No harm in asking.” He released me. “I’ll have John take you home.” He snapped his fingers, and a young vampire jumped to his feet.
“No need.”
“I insist, mon ami.” He tipped his head, gaze locked on mine. “The streets aren’t as safe as they once were.” He looked away. “Join us again tomorrow.”
I nodded and walked to the entrance with the young vampire tagging along. He trailed me outside. I turned to him. “There’s no need for you to track me home, Pierre will know where to find me.”
“If Pierre says I go, I go. I want to wake up tomorrow.”
“Well, then, let’s get to it.” I led him back past Bourbon Street, stopping at Lucius’ rented offices. There was an apartment above. “This is me.”
He looked over the building. “Uh. Thought it’d be fancier. You talk funny, like not from here.”
“My father does business in the area. When it gets too late …” I motioned to the building.
“Oh. All right. Maybe we’ll do this again, like Pierre suggested, tomorrow.”
“Maybe.” I left him standing on the sidewalk and headed inside the building. I walked through to the rear, turning to take a flight of stairs. I lifted the covering from a darkened window, blacked out from the killing rays of the sun. In the building across the street, stood my young vampire escort at the window leveled with my own. He gave me a wink and twisted away. I reached out to Lucius, brushing his thoughts. Won’t be home tonight. Staying in the Quarter. Met an odd bunch, I’ll explain more tomorrow. I sighed, pulling the tee-shirt over my head. “What the hell is going on?”
As soon as the sun felled close the horizon, I exited the building, starting for home. I could still smell the fledgling vampire left back in the Quarter. I moved with preternatural quickness, arriving in moments, sure the young vampire had not yet risen. He was too young to rise before the setting of the sun.
I let myself into our apartments, Lucius and Isabella were still in their robes, fresh from sleep’s confinement. Lucius had The Times-Picayune in his hands, while Isabella read over his shoulder.
“Well, I met the locals. I stayed above the offices, no need to bring them to our home.”
“And?” Lucius asked, folding his paper.
“Let’s just say they’re a strange bunch.”
“Elaborate.” A one word request.
“Pierre Le Sanguis Frais of the New Orleans’s Le Sanguis Frais. He insisted I dine with him and his cohorts last evening. Then, I was escorted to our offices and I’m sure my young attendant was supposed to follow me home this evening.” I lifted my tee-shirt to my face, sniffing. “The blood flowed freely. This needs burned.”
Lucius stood, walking across the room to peer out across the wide veranda, stepping onto the balcony with its hanging plants that draped to the sidewalk. No one stood below the veranda’s balcony. He gazed over the city as if seeing what would have been impossible with human eyes.
“Isabella,” he called and she appeared at his side. “How ‘bout we take in the sights today?” He grinned and tugged her into his arms. “Yes?”
She smiled back, kissing his lips. “Of course.”
*
Later that evening, we made our way through the Quarter, entering the art deco space of The Dream Room. The three of us together made a striking trio. Luc with his many centuries, his noble and commanding bearing, Isabella with her extraordinary beauty, her gaze penetrating and thoughtful, and I, power exuding from my body, canines resting on my lower lip, ready for anything the night threw in my direction.
The velvet tones of the singer were different on this night, deeper and darker. A vampire had replaced the human who’d accompanied the band on the night before. A striking figure. Her vivid, red-tipped fingers wrapped the microphone stand, pouty lips painted in the same crimson color, and her black satin gown clung to every curve. Her raven, pixie-cut hair slicked away from her pale face, her sultry voice enticing with her st
are never leaving mine. Her dark lashes blinked, and her startling green eyes captured mine, beguiling and artless, and a lie.
I noticed my young escort was not in the building … but more than twenty others moved in and out of the dance floor, luring the mortal patrons, again blood taking in plain sight. Pierre danced at its center, a blond beauty of the human variety in his arms. Several puncture marks dotted her throat, and I had to ask myself if she was a willing party? But her glazed expression led me to believe otherwise.
We staked out a table and waited. It wouldn’t be for long.
*
Pierre moved in my direction and tipped his head. He whispered in the woman’s ear, and she abruptly stopped, he leaned in and kissed her wounds, healing them an instant later. The woman shook her head, dazed, backing from her vampire partner, fingers at her throat, before running from the building.
“Mon ami,” he called, puckering his lips. “You’ve spoiled my dance.”
“Not me,” I replied. “We’re just here for the entertainment.”
He chortled a raucous laugh, the others waiting until he invited them to join him in his chuckle. “My friend.” He slinked to our table. “Introductions are like manners, without them the horizons are dulled and accidents happen.”
I motioned to our party. “Pierre Le Sanguis Frais, may I present my father and his lovely wife, Lucius and Isabella Draco.” I turned to Luc. “Father, the head of the family Le Sanguis Frais, Pierre.”
“Enchanté,” Isabella held out a hand. “Monsieur.”
He accepted her hand, leaning over as if to leave a kiss, but at a low growl from Luc, Pierre’s lips skimmed its top. Flipping her hand over, his nose lingering a moment at her wrist, taking in her scent. “Madame.” He inclined his head. “Monsieur.”
I returned to my seat. “Thank you for your invitation. Where’s our young Johnathon?”
Hunger Page 7
