by Tamsin Baker
Lucien clamped his teeth together, fighting the urge to release his fangs. Not because he needed to feed. He’d downed a bottle of synthetic blood earlier. No, the pale-skinned, Titian-haired pretender with the voluptuous body and feline eyes stirred his more carnal appetite. But humans were usually off limits.
While their society had long since accepted the presence of the undead in their midst, only females had survived the great contagion. With no knowledge of what response his discovery might bring, he lived a life of solitary isolation.
That life ensured his security, but human needs still remained. An eternity without more than fleeting, physical liasons, without conversation, he’d finally decided, was no existence.
He’d end this poor excuse of a life. After one last fling.
He was always selective about what female company he kept. With discretion and lack of any real interest on their behalf a necessity, he hadn’t always felt good about what choices his anonymity necessitated.
But if discovery now no longer mattered, he was free to simply follow his desires. The thought buoyed him as much as the taste of aged whisky used to, before that pleasure had also been taken from him.
This pale-skinned beauty, so obviously a part of this world, yet not really, intrigued him as much as she aroused him. He smiled to himself. Vampires weren’t so different to humans in that regard. Each had a fascination for the other, and why clubs like Eternel existed in Paris, and in cities around the world.
Now that he’d tuned in to the redhead’s pulse, it infiltrated his mind above the drone of conversation and mood music. Sultry. Sexy. Evocative. The music, and the woman.
She blended in seamlessly with the authentics with her sleek, black dress, long red nails and dark red mouth. Her milk-white skin, obviously natural with her copper hair coloring and not the lifeless pallor of the undead. But those who attended the club were usually too caught up in the subversive vibe to notice a fake.
Human fear turned to fascination in the decades since their worlds came to co-exist and clubs like Eternel thrived and kept the always suspicious relationship between both worlds peaceful.
The redhead sat between two men, dividing her attention equally. They played by the rules and kept their hands to themselves, even though Lucien knew they probably craved more.
Didn’t they feel her body heat? But he knew better than anyone how easily the living could be deceived. He’d done it for centuries before the contagion, and his very survival had depended on it since then.
The females had their enclaves, their own communities. The acceptance of society. Many, he knew, took human lovers. Even had relationships. At least they had that choice.
Lucien leaned back, pretended to sip drink and watched the Pre-Raphaelite curls brush her bare, pale shoulders as she smiled at her admirers. So how did this intriguing imposter fit in?
***
Katrine was bored. Lately clients failed to hold her interest, and these two were a total snoozefest. She forced a smile onto her lips and tuned back into the same old newbie questions while trying plan her escape.
It was busy and she couldn’t catch the eye of any of the other women. It was nights like these, or early mornings more exactly, that she’d begun to wonder if she needed to leave this life - the only life she’d known since Lisette and her coterie had adopted her. Since her mother had been bitten and drained by a rogue female.
They’d taken her, raised her. Educated her in the ways of both worlds but with no guidance how to have a daylight life, the night world was what she knew best. Where she was loved and cared for.
There was nothing, and no one, to give her reason to leave the security of this life, and these women.
‘Katrine, darling,’ Lisette’s husky voice interrupted her thoughts as she leaned over the back of the chaise, insinuating her ample breasts between Katrine and her companions. ‘I’m sorry to drag you away from your handsome admirers, but it’s nearly time for your performance.’
Darling Lisette. There was plenty of time before she had to get ready, but she’d picked up on her obvious boredom and come to the rescue. Katrine stood and Lisette took her place. The men seemed happy enough to have the attention of Eternel’s owner.
Katrine made her way to the small dressing room in the private area at the back of the club. Luis hadn’t arrived yet. Her dance partner and unashamed vampire groupie. The man who, although he’d spent more time with her than any other, still believed her ruse.
Katrine smiled to herself as she took her white lace costume from its hanger. Her Victor Victoria moment. A human woman, living the life of a vampire, now portraying a human in a nightly performance. Bizarre. It was a wonder she held on to her sanity. But in the same bizarre way, it kept her sane.
There was nothing stopping her living a daylight life. What many would call a normal life. But how did you completely turn around the only way of living you’ve ever known?
She slipped the white lace dress over her head, the soft folds falling from her hips to mid-calf, the low-cut bodice hugging her breasts. An innocent, ripe for corruption.
A knock rapped on the dressing room door, and it opened.
‘Bonsoir, cherie.’ Luis breezed in, dropping a kiss on her cheek. ‘Let me zip you up.’ He deftly raised the zipper on the back of her dress. If he’d been straight, Katrine couldn’t have allowed such familiarity, but he had no interest in the physical connection during their performance. Luis was too gay, and too caught up in his own performance and his adoring groupies to notice that she was a warm-blooded woman.
‘Five minutes,’ a voice called from the corridor
‘Ready to give the customers what they want?’ Luis opened the door and ushered Katrine out.
They walked to the wings of the small stage and stood in silence as Lisette introduced them. The club lights dimmed. Katrine shook her arms and touched her toes, made her way to the darkened center-stage and took her position; hands behind her back, looking up into the distance as the spotlight lit her.
The club hushed, giving her their attention, but it wasn’t the hold she had on the audience that sent a buzz through her body. It was being able to express who she was. What she really was, yet none of them knowing her secret.
The slow, gritty beat of ‘Human’ began. Katrine’s body undulated and moved, the spotlight following as she portrayed a woman longing for love.
Then Luis stepped out of the darkness and into her light, and that light turned red. Such an old-school cliché in a black dinner suit and scarlet-lined cloak, but the patrons loved it. Even though male vampires had disappeared from society, humans still clung to the classic stereotypes.
They music flowed through her body, carrying her on the slow, earthy rhythm. They moved in a slow, sensuous seduction, bodies touching then moving apart. Luis lifted her, held her. He seduced; she succumbed.
These few minutes were when Katrine felt most alive. Real. She’d choreographed this as a personal story. One her enclave understood and one that, more and more, played on her mind. The conflict of her choice between two different lives.
Luis grabbed her hand as she walked away. Their eyes met, and she could no longer resist. He pulled her into his arms and leaned her back. The lights faded as he hovered his mouth over her neck, lips drawn back to reveal fake fangs.
An evocative remnant of the days before vampire and human learned to live in harmony. The one thing humans had feared. And still remembered. A vampire’s bite which her own mother had been subjected to and which led to her adoption by Lisette’s enclave.
The stage lights came up again and enthusiastic applause rang through the club. Hand in hand, Luis and Katrine took a bow and left the stage.
‘Great job, cherie. I’ll meet you in the bar for a drink.’ Luis headed out to his entourage of fans who, even though the real thing no longer existed, treated his character as if he was some sort of vampire king.
Katrine was immune to the fascination. She’d known nothing else but the vampire life since Lise
tte and the women of Eternel became her family.
She hung the white dress on the hanger, reached for the black club dress but hesitated. She hadn’t had a night off in a while and a recently increasing restlessness that she couldn’t explain had her craving human company. To be out in human society as herself.
Leaving her club dress, her club persona, hanging on the rack, Katrine pulled on her “outside” clothes; jeans, a long-sleeved t-shirt and plain ballet flats. She cleaned all the make-up from her face, tied her hair back in a ponytail and took a pair of non-prescription glasses from a drawer.
On her way to the club’s back entrance, she poked her head through the door to the bar and left a message for Lisette with the bar staff, then stepped out into the balmy Montmatre night.
The dome of the Sacre Coeur Basilica shone bright against the charcoal sky. Her city. One she didn’t know nearly well enough. Something she needed to remedy. The street still bustled with life as people strolled along the footpaths or sat at pavement tables with glasses of wine. Bars and cafes buzzed with life.
Katrine breathed deeply, feeling the warm air in her lungs, on her skin. As much as she loved the women of her adopted family, being away from them, away from the club, gave her a freedom they didn’t have. Could never have. She could stay and watch the sun rise. Let its heat caress her skin.
She walked to Rue Foyatier, to the top of the iconic stone staircase. She loved this view. It wasn’t especially beautiful, the surrounding buildings non-descript, but the steep run of stairs represented the divide between her two worlds.
Muted globes of light sat atop the line of iron lampposts, barely showing the way down the famous 222 steps. She walked down the half-lit stairs with tall, sinewy trees dotted in between. The lights of cafes and nightclubs along the Place Saint Pierre beckoned below.
Montmartre thrummed with life, a consequence of the vampire presence. The night was their domain and they’d built a vibrant nightlife which humans embraced.
She reached the bottom of the steps and turned right, towards her favorite pizza place. Her stomach growled. Such a human thing. That she needed food only highlighted that she wasn’t really a part of her other world.
A delicious, cheesy aroma enveloped her as she swung the door open. Her stomach grumbled again.
‘Katrine,’ Jean-Pierre, the rotund and moustachoed café owner, waved to her from behind the counter. ‘Come, come, cherie. Your table is free.’ He came out and swallowed her in one of his bear hugs. Like the women at Eternel, Jean-Pierre was family.
He led her by the hand to a small, round table in the back corner. Her spot. The first time she’d come to La Boheme, she’d sat at this solitary table and just people watched. Soaked up the normalness of human life and wondered what that must be like.
Tonight, again, quiet conversation and delicious aromas filled the intimate space. On the rare occasions she’d come here in the day, it was the same, but sunlight would stream through the multi-paned windows and bring the jewel tones of the bohemian-themed interior to life.
As much as she felt at home in the constant night world of Eternel, she felt truly herself, out in the light, with no ambiguity about those around her being human.
She scanned the couples in the café. She could guess at which women were vampire. Those without food in front of them. Those with paler skin. Not so much those who were trying too hard with dark clothes and red lips. Katrine knew that genuine vampires tended not to draw attention to themselves away from places like Eternel.
Jean-Pierre brought over a small pizza, glistening with melted cheese and mouth-watering spicy salami. ‘Eat, cherie.’
The jovial owner always gave Katrine special attention. If he was curious about why she always came in the early hours, and always alone, he never questioned her. They’d chat when he had a quieter moment, but she never shared anything personal. She didn’t want to let something slip that might give away her truth and discredit the reputation of Eternel as being genuine.
She bit into a slice, savoring the deliciousness and wondering, not for the first time, what it must be like for Lisette and the others to be deprived of the joy of food. And, as the very first hint of morning lightened the sky, never enjoy the birth of a new day.
As bizarre as her situation was, it made her more appreciative of who she was. What she was.
Sure, her life was finite, but the compensations of being human outweighed an eternal existence in darkness.
CHAPTER 2
It was a short cab ride to the Montparnasse Cemetery and the hidden entrance to the catacombs. While he had the vampire ability to move at lightning speed, taking the human option gave Lucien a fleeting sense of fitting in.
The waning night lights of Paris passed by as he made his way to his safe place. The females had established their enclaves, their light-proof residences, with the understanding of human society. He didn’t have the same privilege. It didn’t bear thinking about what would happen if the only existing male vampire was discovered.
He was such a cliché. He really should be swanning around in a black suit with a red-lined cape like the dancer at Eternal with his fangs permanently out. He smiled to himself. He hadn’t used his fangs for decades and he didn’t miss it. Didn’t miss having to kill to survive. He’d never been one to kill purely for entertainment like so many he’d known.
The cab dropped him on the corner of the Rue Emile Richard, the street that divided the two sections of the cemetery. The public entrance to the catacombs lay further along, but Lucien headed in the opposite direction.
Tall trees lined the road and loomed overhead, providing shadow. He doubted anyone would be strolling along the eerie road, but checked he was alone before easily scaling the brick wall, the creeping dawn giving him urgency.
Centuries old graves and headstones stood guard as Lucien moved briskly, but warily. The hidden entrance needed to stay secret.
Dropping to his hands and knees beside a time-worn grave, he looked up to the crumbling statue of a weeping woman who watched over his secret. A secret that had been common knowledge back when he’d been human, and which now gave him the safety and security his existence depended on.
He pushed aside a straggly bush that overhung the grave and brushed away loose soil at its trunk. His fingers easily found the rusted, metal handle and he pulled. His muscles strained against the weight and the sound of metal grinding against stone echoed in the stillness. The wide, black, mouth to the world below opened up as the disc swung back on its hinge.
Lucien easily found the first rung with his foot and stepped onto the iron ladder. Getting the disc back into place took both hands and it finally thudded back into place and total darkness descended.
He dropped effortlessly into the low-ceilinged cavern.
The enveloping black didn’t hinder him. His very survival depended on a world of constant lightlessness
Perfect seclusion.
He groped for his stash of candles and matches and struck flame to wick. Flickering, yellow light bent along the curved walls guided his way to a narrow corridor that led further into the miles of tunnels and chambers.
Rock and pebbles crunched under his feet, the only sound in the thick, heavy silence. How different to the giggles and laughter and the rustle of silk dresses when he and his friends had walked, single file through the same tunnel, candles in hand.
Deep along the tunnel, it finally opened out into a high-ceilinged cavern, the light of his single candle barely reaching beyond his head.
His sanctuary.
The chamber where his coffin now waited was the same one where, centuries ago, they had held clandestine soirees. Nights of drinking and conversation, and sex that sprang from the seductiveness of the secret and forbidden.
Life had been taken from him down here. From him, and so many of his friends. And replaced with existence.
Lucien blew out the candle. In the depths of onyx blackness and thick silence, he climbed into the open coffin and re
ached for the lid. Even though no light could reach this far below the ground, centuries had forged an immovable habit.
As he closed the lid, a familiar sense of security and familiarity wrapped around him.
He stroked the satin lining, cool and smooth against his fingers. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d slept in a bed and wondered whether Katrine was in hers by now. Naked, with that glorious fiery hair fanned out across the pillow?
No one had sparked his interest with such intensity for at least a century. He’d go to the club again tonight.
He pushed back the cuff of his jacked and pressed the button on his watch. The neon blue numbers showed 6am.
He closed his eyes.
***
Body heat and quiet conversation filled the club. All the better for Lucien to remain unobserved in his quiet corner.
He couldn’t see Katrine, but he’d caught a glimpse of her unmistakable hair as she circulated among the patrons and played her part with convincing aplomb. Even when she was out of sight, he was attuned to the thrum of her pulse.
As he sat with a glass of whiskey he’d not drink, amidst the groups of friends and lovers, a rare pang of envy stabbed where his heart used to beat. He too had had a coterie of friends and his share of lovers. They’d partied, and laughed, and shared confidences. He’d even fallen in love. Until a plague of the undead had descended on Paris.
Those of his friends who hadn’t been slaughtered, fled the city. He’d been left in between. Neither dead, nor alive. Turned.
For centuries he’d had the company of his own kind, then the contagion took even that from him. Realizing he was the last remaining male, he’d isolated himself from humans and the female vampires. He could conceal his identity easily enough in a crowd like this but forming any sort of connection would bring too much risk of discovery.
If anyone scrutinized him closely enough, they might note the pallor of his skin. Or if they got close enough, notice his lack of body heat, but his mind never ventured to what might befall him if discovered and he’d worked at avoiding that possibility.
