Under the Blood Moon

by Tracie Provost

  I walked to the mirror and saw that I looked as bad as I had expected. The creature staring back at me was gaunt and gray with matted hair and tattered clothes. Grimacing, I set about making myself more presentable. I had washed the grime from all visible skin and was trying to drag a comb through my hair when Sophie returned bearing a tray holding a wine glass and a decanter.

  “I thought you might be hungry,” she said as she poured thick, red liquid from the decanter into the glass.

  “You are very kind, but I could not possibly . . .” My refusal was abruptly cut off when my fangs descended at the smell of blood. I had not fed enough. I knew that even draining the boy dry, I was only half full. The incessant gnawing in my stomach that I tried to explain away as fear was really hunger. I clasped my hand over my mouth in embarrassment. I usually had more control, and it took more than the mere scent of blood for my canines to elongate. The automatic reaction was proof that I had not fed near enough tonight.

  “Do not be embarrassed. You have been through a great trauma, Madame Grammont. It is not surprising that you are still hungry.”

  My gauntness and gray pallor had given me away. I said, “Thank you,” as I took the goblet from her. I sipped the blood slowly, using every ounce of willpower not to gulp it down. In the meantime, Sophie had pulled a large towel from the stack and laid it on the floor. “Please, have more. The decanter is for you. After you refill your glass, come and stand on this towel and we’ll try to get most of this dirt off of your skirt.”

  I was unsure what to make of this woman. She was friendly and open, not usual vampire traits. Generally we were only genial when we wanted something or could use someone. I was of little importance and had nothing to give. There was one way for me to know her motivations for sure. Concentrating, I allowed my second sight to bleed into my consciousness. As I looked at Sophie, the colors of her aura became clear, and it was like reading a book. I saw compassion, sadness, and the thinnest trace of pity. I was amazed. This was not an act on her part. Sophie truly was kind.

  I did as she bid and soon Sophie was kneeling in front of me, wire brush in one hand and the hem of my skirt in the other. With sure strokes, Sophie brushed the worst of the dirt and dried mud from my dress.

  I was uncomfortable with Sophie performing such a menial job. “Madame La Tellier, it is unnecessary for you to do servant’s work.”

  She laughed and smiled up at me. “Sophie, please. None of the female servants are old enough to know how to do this properly, and it would be far too difficult for you to do yourself. Besides, I don’t mind. There are far more unpleasant tasks that I must do as Marc’s steward.”

  “You are too kind.”

  “Oh, I’m a steel magnolia, no doubt about it.”

  I did not understand the reference, but I did understand her meaning and smiled. Completing her task, Sophie stood and ushered me toward the long counter. Opening a drawer, she drew out several odd-looking objects that I assumed to be pins and tried to fix my bodice. Stepping back, Sophie shook her head. “It will hold together, but it isn’t very pretty. I will get you a shawl. It will hide a multitude of sins, but first, let’s see about your hair.”

  I grimaced. “It is horrible.”

  Sophie worked on my hair for quite a while, all the time filling me in on world events that had occurred while I was staked. She declared my hair to be presentable before I had the nerve to question her about New Orleans or vampire politics. Sophie found a beautiful cream-colored lace shawl for me to wear before leading me through the rabbit warren of halls to the grand staircase. Two men stood at the bottom engaged in an animated conversation.

  They were a study in contrasts. The man with his back to me had short, black hair and was attired formally in finely tailored gray trousers and a matching jacket. The other’s sandy-blond hair was longer and shaggy. Casually dressed in the same sort of pants that the boy in the crypt had been wearing with scuffed boots and a long-sleeved, green shirt, he had a battered, brown hat in his left hand. Even their postures could not have been more different. Marc Gautier held himself regally, while his companion leaned nonchalantly against the banister.

  “Ah, good. I see that Marc is wrapping up his meeting with Josh,” Sophie said. Even before she spoke, both men had turned and looked up the stairs. I saw that the blond man’s eyes matched the green of his shirt, and he broke into a wide, easy smile at the sight of us. The Grandmaster was slightly shorter than his companion, with entrancing pale-blue eyes. He nodded gravely to both Sophie and me.

  Both men exuded a great deal of power. All vampires radiate power auras, but only the most powerful, those of Elders, Masters, Grandmasters, and strong mages, are noticed by most. The specially gifted or magically inclined could feel weaker auras and sometimes even tell them apart. I had such ability, and even had the men not been attired so differently, I would have known who the Grandmaster was instantly, so powerful was his aura. The other man was either an Elder or a Master, but I was too out of practice to discern which. He definitely did not carry a mage’s pungency.

  I realized that my own shields had dropped, and my magic and power were leaking out. That was probably what caused the two men to look up when they did. Sophie emitted almost no power aura, and I had been too preoccupied to notice what she did project. Shielding was second nature to me, but lack of vitae had caused those shields to slip. I drew up the barriers now. My power aura was a fraction of what it had been a moment before. The Grandmaster regarded me for a moment and then turned his attention back to his companion. The other man continued to watch me.

  I followed Sophie down the stairs, acutely aware of my tattered appearance and bare feet. When we reached the landing, I saw and felt Andre emerge from the parlor. His power was a potent combination of mage and Elder, not unpleasant but strong and bold. The man, Josh, took a look at my maker’s glowering form, flicked his glance quickly up the stairs to me, and said, “Well, I can see you’ve got other business to attend, Marc, so I’ll take my leave. I’ll tell my sister what you said. Don’t think it’ll be a problem.”

  The Grandmaster nodded, and the man quickly half-bowed to Monsieur Gautier and Andre. Looking up the stairs, he acknowledged us with a simple, “Ladies.”

  Sophie called out, “Josh, could you stay for a moment? I need to speak with you.”

  “Sure, Soph. I’ll be in the parlor when you’re ready.” He quickly disappeared into the other room, clearly not wishing to be in Andre’s presence.

  Monsieur Gautier now focused his attention on my sire. “It is good to see you, Andre. I assume your visit has something to do with the beautiful woman accompanying Sophie.”

  “Yes.” I had reached the bottom of the stairs now. “May I present to you my progeny, Juliette de Grammont.”

  I sank into a low curtsy, murmuring, “Monsieur.”

  Marc Gautier lifted my hand to his lips. “Enchanted, Madame. I have heard much about you. Please, come into my office, and we shall speak.”

  Andre and I followed him through immense double doors. The Grandmaster indicated two leather chairs in front of his desk. Andre sat in one, I in the other. Marc Gautier took his seat behind the large mahogany desk. This room, like the others I had seen, was sumptuously but tastefully appointed.

  Sophie appeared at my side and handed me another goblet of blood. She then withdrew, closing the double doors behind her. I thought it interesting that Andre was not offered a drink.

  Marc Gautier nodded to me and said, “I understand that you have been missing for quite a while, Madame Grammont.”

  “Since 1797,” Andre answered for me. I raised an eyebrow at this. He had never spoken for me before, and I wondered what game he was playing. The conversation went on like this for several minutes, where I would open my mouth to answer one of the Grandmaster’s questions, only to be cut off by my sire. I was confused and hurt by his actions. Neve
r in my memory did I recall Andre being this domineering. I did not like this change. My anger rose as the conversation continued. My magic began to seep out of me toward Andre like tendrils of smoke. Realizing what I had unconsciously done, I called it back and hoped my sire had not noticed. If he had, Andre gave no indication. He continued pompously answering questions meant for me, while I worked to control my temper and magic. Finally, the Grandmaster looked directly at me and asked, “Are you willing to give fealty?”

  “Of course she is,” Andre answered.

  The city’s leader cast a cold glance at my sire. “I need to hear it from her, not you.”

  “Yes, I am willing to swear fealty,” I said, hoping to avert a clash. I would deal with Andre later when we were alone.

  Marc stood and indicated that I should as well.

  “I, Juliette de Grammont, do freely swear to uphold the Traditions, be faithful to my coven, and render service to the Grandmaster of New Orleans, Marc Gautier. I will protect the city and its Grandmaster against all creatures, living or dead, until I meet final death. This is my solemn oath and promise.” I then knelt and kissed Marc’s ring of office.

  Raising me from the floor, the Grandmaster kept my hands in his. “I, Marc Gautier, Grandmaster of New Orleans, do humbly accept your freely given oath of loyalty and promise to render all aid that you, Juliette de Grammont, may require.” He then bowed and kissed me on both cheeks.

  Andre rose to leave, and I made to follow until Monsieur Gautier said, “Madame Grammont, if you would please stay a moment. I wish to speak with you privately. Andre, you may wait for her in the parlor.”

  Andre was visibly taken aback by this abrupt dismissal but quickly shrugged it off. Nodding to the Grandmaster, he said to me, “I will await you outside, Juliette.” I did not care for his tone.

  “Very well,” I said coldly.

  Monsieur Gautier waited until Andre had closed the doors behind him to step out from behind his desk. “I believe we would be more comfortable over there,” he said, indicating an intimate seating area around one of the room’s two fireplaces. I sat in a comfortable hunter-green wingback chair, while the Grandmaster retrieved a wine glass and decanter from inside a nearby sideboard. “Let me refill your drink. I believe you are looking much better than when you arrived this evening.”

  I cast my eyes down. I knew he was referring to the gray pallor of my normally café au lait skin tone and the gauntness of my face. Forcing myself to look up and meet his gaze, I said, “Yes. You and your steward have been very kind. It is much appreciated.”

  Marc Gautier smiled as he filled both of our glasses. “Please forgive my high-handedness in temporarily exiling your sire to the parlor. It was obvious that Andre did not wish you to speak for yourself. It angered you, didn’t it?”

  He had felt my magic. “I beg your forgiveness for allowing my magic to manifest itself in your presence. It will not happen again unless you bid it,” I said quietly. Out of nervous habit, I began to play with my necklace.

  Seating himself in a nearby chair, Gautier chuckled. “I did not mean that as a reprimand. It was so brief that I wondered if I had imagined it, but your magic, your power is . . . unusual. Very strong for one who has been in torpor all these years, and quite distinctive. Your mastery over it is quite astonishing; I don’t believe I have ever met anyone who could completely turn it off the way you did in the foyer and then again just now.”

  I took a long sip of vitae and smiled sheepishly. “It has not taken you long to figure out my secret. My mother long ago taught me how to hide my power.”

  Confusion clouded the Grandmaster’s face. “Your mother? Your human mother?”

  “Yes. Only part of my magic is vampire magic.”

  “Ah, you are also a mage.”

  I nodded. That was close enough to the truth. In reality, I was a thaumaturge. Mages call magic to them in order to use it. Thaumaturges draw magic from inside ourselves. We have magic in our bone and blood. We can also call magic to us, but it is not as strong as what comes from inside. Thaumaturges are rare, with only one or two born in a generation. This was my true secret. Even Andre thought I was only a talented mage.

  “I believe Andre once told me you were a midwife?” Monsieur Gautier asked.

  “Oui, and a healer. My maman believed that the mistress of a plantation should be more than an ornament in her husband’s parlor. She made sure I had a practical education and could care for those in my charge.”

  “You were born here?” he probed.

  I took a sip from my glass and shook my head. “Not in Louisiana, no. I was born on St. Domingue. I fled here to New Orleans during the slave revolt in 1791.”

  Monsieur Gautier looked thoughtful for a moment and then asked, “Why here? If I remember correctly, this was Spanish territory at that time.”

  “My husband and father both had business interests here. I was sent ahead, but . . . the rest of the family perished.” I pushed the bad memories away and continued, “You are correct; Carondolet was governor then.”

  “You must have missed the work after you were turned,” the Grandmaster said.

  “I never gave up the work. Andre tried to persuade me to do so, but I was adamant about continuing,” I answered.

  “But the blood . . . didn’t it tempt you?” Monsieur Gautier asked, regarding me intently.

  “I always made sure to feed before attending a patient, and normally, I have a great deal of control.” I had no doubt that Sophie would report what had transpired upstairs to him.

  The Grandmaster looked pleased. “This is good to know. We have a number of human retainers, and while we employ several doctors, some cases cannot be taken to them or the physician’s memories must be wiped clean after he treats the patient.”

  I nodded. “I will be happy to assist in any way I can.”

  “And I am more than willing to help you in any matters you need. I am afraid that you will find New Orleans and the rest of the world much changed. Please do not hesitate to ask if you have questions or if you need something.”

  “Thank you.”

  “That is a very unusual pendant you are wearing. Very beautiful,” Monsieur Gautier remarked.

  I traced the intricate pattern on the lavaliere, still amazed that it, as well as my rings, had not been stolen while I lay in torpor. “It is the veve of my patron Loa, Kadja Bossou.”

  “I don’t believe I’ve ever seen one quite like that before. You’ll be happy to know that the voodoo community is thriving here in New Orleans. In fact, Frederique is the reigning voodoo queen. Have you seen her since you’ve been back?”

  “No. We came here first. I believe Andre intends to take me to see her next,” I said and finished the last of my blood.

  “Then I shouldn’t keep you any longer. As pleasant as our discussion has been, we both have other business to attend to this evening.”

  We both stood, and he walked me to the door. As we stepped into the foyer, the front door burst open. Josh stumbled in, half-carrying, half-dragging a bloody young man. The Grandmaster immediately stepped forward to help them.

  Taking up the other side, he said, “We’ll put him on the couch in my office. What happened?”

  “Don’t rightly know, Marc. I left here heading back to the bar and heard a commotion in one of the ungated courtyards. I went to investigate and found Chris like this. I musta scared off whatever attacked him.”

  The Grandmaster looked at me and asked, “Do you think you can tend to him?”

  I nodded, very thankful for the extra blood they had served me earlier. I sensed Sophie hurrying down the hallway toward us. “What has happened?” she asked.

  “Chris has been hurt. Get Madame Grammont whatever she needs to treat him.”

  I turned and asked, “Can you arrange some warm water, towels, and
bandages? If you do not have bandages, old linens will do.” I then followed into the Grandmaster’s office to examine the young man.

  Chapter 2

  BY THE TIME I reentered the office, Josh and the Grandmaster had placed their burden on the sofa. A quick sniff told me that the man was human, but I thought I noticed the earthy tones of werewolf and something else too. A deeper breath confirmed the stench of lupine, masked by the coppery tang of human blood. I closed my eyes and drew in another deep breath. The earthy scent of lupine was mixed with a slightly acrid odor. City smells maybe? I gave the figure a brief, overall scan to assess what needed to be dealt with first. I realized that this was no man but a youth of about fifteen or sixteen. Mercifully, he was unconscious. His breathing was slow and labored, but when I felt for a pulse, I found it remarkably strong. This one was a fighter. His left cheek bore four very deep claw marks. The wound bled freely and copiously, but then, face wounds always did. It was not life threatening.

  It appeared that the boy’s torso had taken the brunt of the damage. His left arm was obviously broken. I bent and realigned the bones with an audible pop. I winced at the sound, but the boy did not wake up. What had once been a blue shirt was torn to ribbons, as had the flesh underneath. I knelt beside him and began to remove what was left of the garment to get a better look. I said a silent prayer that all I would find were claw slashes. If the boy had not been bitten, then he would not be infected.

  I struggled with the shirt but before I could request a knife, Josh produced a wicked-looking blade from his boot and presented it to me. Murmuring my thanks, I quickly cut the remainder of the shirt off. Deep slashes crisscrossed the boy’s chest, exposing bone and muscle in some places. His right side had also been badly mauled. This wound had been inflicted with teeth, not claws. I used the remains of the shirt to pack the wound. There were several more sets of claw marks on the boy’s forearms and biceps. I needed to roll him over to examine his back.