The Secrets of Blood and Bone

by Rebecca Alexander

  “There’s a six-hour time difference, it’s only four o’clock here, tea time.” He pulled out his most formal suit and laid it on the bed. “I’ll just dress smart. Look after yourself, Sadie, and keep an eye on Jack for me.”

  “I will. And I’ll look forward to my parcel. Be careful at this place, with all the weirdo vampire women. Bye, Felix.”

  He rang off. He guessed wearing a suit might be better than being too informal, and at least he would look professional. Even in April, the city was warm and a little humid but starting to cool down as the light faded.

  He sat down at the laptop. E-mails from work could mostly wait, a few needed acknowledgments. He typed in “Julian Prudhomme” and did a search. There was a lot of information.

  Prudhomme was well known as a priest of a blended religion Felix was familiar with called Santería. When Africans were abducted into slavery they brought their own beliefs, which they adapted into the Christian beliefs of the Caribbean. Gods and goddesses were renamed as saints, rituals subtly adapted or carried out in secret, the core African beliefs hidden in the new religion of Santería. With the selling of slaves between the Caribbean and America, the new beliefs spread.

  Felix was familiar with the similar development of “voodoo” from the West African tradition of vodun, the animistic religion he had encountered in Nigeria. New Orleans was filled with references to it, including at least one voodoo museum.

  He ordered a sandwich from room service and started looking on the Internet for associations between Santería and drinking blood. There was a connection made between the sacrifice of live animals in rituals, and possible breaches of laws in various states. But nowhere could he find any mention of drinking blood, although one or two mysterious cases of unexplained murders did make a possible link to Santería. He finished his tea looking out over the town as the light started to fall.

  The hotel on St. Louis Street in the French quarter was the largest in the road. The other buildings were largely Creole and French colonial town houses, huddled against each other in bright shades, festooned with balconies and contrasting shutters. Lights twinkled in windows, music rose and fell like ocean waves from the street below, blending everything from brassy jazz to classical.

  He stepped into the shower and thought about his reaction to Gina Larabie. She had made an impact on him every time they met, and working together had produced a lot of opportunities to talk. Gina had made it clear she wanted more.

  He stood in the hot water speculating for the thousandth time about where he stood with Jack. Turning the temperature down for a moment, he let the cooler water run down his body. This was a chance to understand what might happen to Jack, who had been forced to drink blood to save Sadie. He could remember the look on her face—energized, exultant, ready for anything. The last time he had seen her, some weeks ago, she had still been buzzing with life, very different from the faded, cold woman he had first encountered.

  She had also pushed him away, and made it clear that any relationship that may have started was now over.

  —

  The hotel desk clerk gave him a look that suggested approval. Body language, one of his areas of interest, had its uses. She called him a cab to the address Gina had written down, and immediately he felt a measure of interest from the young woman.

  “It’s only a few minutes away,” she said, her voice lower and softer than seconds ago.

  “Oh. Good.” The look she was giving him was definitely speculative now. “I’m an anthropologist. I’m studying aspects of social behavior.”

  She smiled. “Well, there’ll be plenty to study there.”

  It was a relief to step into the taxi. The driver, an elderly black man in a red scarf, sounded surprised. “You wanna go there? Hell, why?”

  Felix repeated his story, and the man turned on the meter and pulled out amid a chorus of horns.

  Gina was waiting in the lobby of what looked like a discreet hotel: a long wooden bar, a couple of well-dressed attendants, and a pair of mahogany doors furnished in brass. She turned to face him, wearing a gray silky dress with a low back that showed off her long neck.

  “Gina. You look lovely.” He was glad now he had worn a suit.

  “Felix! Come and get a drink.” She led the way through the doors and onto a staircase stretching down to a basement level.

  A second pair of doors opened into a bar area, the walls covered with wooden paneling. Music murmured in the background, contemporary but not too loud, and it took a few moments to appreciate the clientele.

  Many were very young, some dressed in dark colors with stark black and white makeup. Some wore exotic outfits, from corsets that cinched tiny waists—a few of them male—to heels that looked like they were designed to hurt. The clothes appeared expensive, the behavior was subtly sexual but not aggressively so.

  “How did you find this place?” He smiled, and she leaned on the bar. It emphasized her cleavage.

  “I came here for my initial research, but no one would help me. Until I met Julian.” She ordered a cocktail, and Felix chose a mineral water.

  “Why did he help?”

  “I don’t know—maybe he found me attractive.” She sipped her drink with her eyes closed. “Mm.” She looked back at Felix. “Maybe he was curious himself. He likes to explore.”

  “I looked this Julian up. He seems like a mysterious character.” He shrugged. “I’m still a bit unclear how he can help me with my questions about blood.”

  She put the glass down and her manner changed, became more like a lecturer, he thought. “Julian knows about the living dead—what we might describe as ‘revenants’—through the Santería tradition. Well, he knows the legends, anyway.”

  “But he’s never met one?”

  She nodded. “He’s met people who were trying to become revenants.”

  Felix sipped the water. “Why would anyone do that? To live a short life of constant weakness sounds counterproductive.”

  She shrugged. “Counterproductive? With regular donations of blood they don’t age, they are rumored to be essentially immortal.” She sipped a little of her drink, watching the other people at the bar. “For someone who is terminally ill, for example, it must be an attractive prospect.”

  A girl slipped past, skeletally thin and with a black dog collar around her neck attached to a chain held by another equally thin girl. Felix’s attention was distracted for a moment.

  “Julian?” He turned back to Gina to see a man, dressed in a suit but without a tie, standing beside her at the bar. “Professor Guichard, Julian Prudhomme.”

  Felix took a good look at him. He was taller than Felix’s six feet, and much heavier, although he wasn’t fat. His skin was so dark that in the low light his features were difficult to make out, except for his eyes, vivid and roaming over Felix’s face and body. He held out a large hand, two fingers ornamented with gold rings.

  “Felix,” he said, his voice deep. Felix could see people turning to watch them. “Call me Julian.” His voice had a Caribbean lilt.

  “It’s nice to meet you,” Felix murmured, feeling the brief pressure of the man’s hand.

  “I hear you are a researcher into magic?” The man nodded to the bartender and a drink was placed on the bar.

  “I am interested in magical belief systems, yes.”

  The man sipped his drink, and as he turned to the light Felix could see fine lines around the man’s eyes that suggested he was older than he at first appeared. “I understand you are a leading expert on John Dee.”

  It was a statement rather than a question, but Felix answered anyway. “I would say I’ve been more interested recently in the work of his associate, Edward Kelley.”

  “But you are open-minded about whether magic is possible?” Julian sipped his drink, turning his intense gaze upon Felix again.

  Feeling his color rise, Felix replied, “I have had some experiences that I cannot explain, both in Europe and in Africa.” He didn’t want to elaborate. “I
understand you are a practitioner of Santería?”

  “I am a priest of that tradition, certainly.” He nodded to the bartender, who brought over what looked like another sparkling water. “My family has that responsibility within our community. I understand your interest is in this,” he waved his hand around at the room, “blood ritual?”

  “Is there a tradition of using blood in rituals in Santería?” Felix said.

  The man waited for a long moment, apparently considering his answer. “There is a tradition of sacrifice, certainly, and animal blood is commonly used. But the use of human blood is different.” Felix noticed he hadn’t answered the question. Julian continued in his deep, measured voice. “But your Western traditions of magic value blood highly. There are many references to it.”

  “I was interested in the beliefs of sanguinarians.”

  Julian glanced at Gina then back at Felix, his gaze intense. “What, especially, are you interested in?”

  “I am concerned about the effects of drinking blood on people who are drawn to ingesting it, or feel addicted to the experience. I want to find out how they feel after drinking blood, and whether there are any side effects.”

  “I see.” Julian stared at Felix, making him feel a little uncomfortable.

  He looked back, relaxing the muscles of his face, trying to appear calm.

  Finally, Julian smiled. “Then I think I can help you. Let me explain aspects of the modern vampire phenomenon. For example, look at the man on the sofa.”

  Felix looked around the room. As his eyes adjusted to the light levels he could see more of the dark wood furniture and the comfortable leather sofas. One man sat between two youths, both whispering to him and stroking his body. Neither boy looked eighteen and the overt sexuality was disturbing.

  “My friend over there calls himself an energy vampire,” Julian said. “He is generous to his lovers in exchange for a little of their youthful vitality. No harm done to any party.”

  “And nothing to do with blood?”

  “No. As far as I know. The exchange, he claims, is of sexual and spiritual energy. Now, the lady in the purple over there—”

  Felix looked toward the corner of the room. A large woman, perhaps in her thirties, was talking to a younger man, running long painted nails over his neck and chest.

  Julian continued. “She will take blood as part of a sexual ritual. I have had the good fortune to be one of her lovers—and the blood seemed completely part of the ecstasy of a night in her bed. Well worth a few drops I could spare. The sensation of submission—” He paused, smiling. “Is very alluring. I could introduce you.”

  “No, thank you.” The woman stared at him as if she had heard Julian’s suggestion, and he flushed with embarrassment. He sipped the rest of the water to cool down. “But she is a blood fetishist?”

  “I would call her more of a role-player. You are sure you don’t want an introduction?”

  “No!” Felix smiled. “I mean, I wouldn’t want to waste her time.”

  Gina laughed. “So, you were hoping to talk to people who take blood, but wouldn’t go so far as to sleep with them?” She laid a hand on his briefly when he blushed a little. “Forgive us. You’re very easy to tease.”

  Felix turned away from the intense study, looking around the room. People were standing in couples and groups, all watching the taller man. “I suppose I am. No offense, but I was hoping to just interview someone who had drunk human blood for magical purposes,” he said, his voice coming out drier than he had intended.

  After a long moment, Julian spoke again. “You understand, there is a lot of prurient curiosity, not to mention journalists and dilettantes. There are very few discreet establishments where people are able to follow their desires in complete privacy.” The way he lingered on the word “desires” involuntarily drew Felix’s eyes to Gina. Her attention was locked onto the speaker. “There must be no judgments, simply acceptance.”

  “I understand.” Felix finished his drink.

  “Then let’s go to a real ‘vampire’ club.” The big man snapped his fingers and threw several banknotes on the bar. Felix let Gina take his arm and steer him toward the door.

  “Where are we going now?” he murmured to her as they stepped onto the street.

  “I don’t know. Just give in to it, Felix, relax.”

  That was the problem. There was something in the air, some crackling energy emanating from the big man that stood every hair on Felix’s body on end. His instincts were dragging him back from the black limo that reflected the lights from the street. He overcame them and slid onto the seat beside Gina, opposite the man.

  The man smiled suddenly, his teeth flashing in the low light. “You look nervous.”

  Felix smiled. “I think I am, a little.”

  “Let me give you a little background.” Julian settled back into the leather seat. “The taking of blood has two very different purposes, two subcultures. In one, the woman you saw today, the main focus is on the erotic charge of sharing blood. That is the lovely Mariella’s preference.”

  Felix smiled, feeling his stomach squirm. “That is something I find strange.” Cars sounded their horns around the limo. The car slowed down into a queue of traffic.

  Julian leaned forward a little, as if studying Felix. “But not altogether alien? Have you been a participant?”

  The scar on his forearm, where Jack had sucked blood from his skin, seemed to itch and he had to suppress an impulse to scratch it. “Not in an erotic situation, no.” He took a deep breath. “I was a donor, in a belief-based ritual to do with energy, with vitality.”

  “Interesting. Describe the sensation.”

  “Painful.” Felix smiled in the dark, but the man waited for more. “It was a moment of high tension, I suppose, and it was very intimate. It was as if the world had stopped and it was just Jack and me for a moment. But it was a situation of life and death at the time.”

  Gina slid her hand onto his for a second, in the dark. It was strangely comforting.

  “And it had some effect on this Jack?” Julian’s voice was deep.

  “It seemed to energize her. Gina may have mentioned, my friend believes she is a revenant, although she would call herself a ‘borrowed timer.’ She exists by using sorcery from Dee’s research in Eastern Europe.”

  “And this doesn’t use blood?”

  “No. Just herbs and symbols.”

  “The use of blood in magic, as I’m sure you know, is an ancient one,” Julian said. “Many cultures have believed that partaking increases strength or other qualities.” The cacophony of horns outside the limo had become almost deafening, and the car had come to a complete stop. Julian sighed. “Ah, a little local color.”

  Gina leaned toward the window. “Looks like police lights ahead.”

  Julian spoke to the driver. “Thank you, Auguste. We’ll walk from here.”

  The driver slid out of the front seat and opened the back door. Felix found himself jostled by a crowd of people as he left the car, then reached a hand in to help Gina. People on the wide sidewalk were good-natured, but packed together, craning their necks to look over the drama ahead. It looked like an accident, but all Felix could see were two men shouting at each other and a lot of flashing lights.

  Felix, Gina clutching his arm, followed Julian, for whom a path seemed to have been magically created. He turned into a side road, barely more than an alley, and they followed it toward a quieter street entrance.

  “This is a shortcut. I grew up in this neighborhood,” Julian said, a quick flash of a smile in the darkness. “Here.” Along the quiet lane was a black door, solid, locked. Felix turned to see a couple of young men lounging in the alley entrance, hands in their pockets. Gina squeezed his arm.

  Julian spoke into his phone. “Leonard? It’s Julian—we’re at the side door.”

  The door swung inward, and the watchers disappeared back into the shadows.

  The atmosphere of the club enfolded Felix the moment he ste
pped inside. The street sounds disappeared, the noise of shoes were muffled in a thick carpet. Even the walls seemed padded. His eyes slowly adjusted to the soft lighting.

  The room, and the one beyond, appeared to be filled with sofas, the black walls decorated with branches of candles and huge mirrors. People, male and female, lounged in pairs and trios on the seats, all wearing vivid black and white masks. Some were elaborate, with plumes of feathers or cat ears. Others were plain, just covering the eyes.

  When Felix turned back to his companions, he found them adjusting masks as well.

  “None for you, I’m afraid,” Gina said, from under one covered in feathers like an owl, dotted with shiny stones that picked up the low light and flashed. “Members only. This way everyone knows you are an outsider and no one will inadvertently reveal their identity.”

  It was reminiscent of Venice, the Carnevale parties. One of his students had written her thesis on the symbolism of masks in modern Venetian culture. Her photographs, stunning enough to publish separately, were filled with the blank faces and the freedom it brought to the wearers. There was another similarity. The club members looked like lovers, groups of people who knew each other intimately, exchanging caresses that Felix wouldn’t expect to be shared in public. He felt exposed, especially as many of them were looking at him and appeared to be discussing him.

  Gina’s eyes gleamed behind the mask. “Come on, Felix, no one’s going to bite you.” She laughed. “Not unless you want them to, anyway.”

  “Yes. Sit where you can observe the company.” Julian’s voice had a definite mocking quality now. His mask was black, a stylized human face with echoes of a skull.

  The curved walls and mirrors maximized exposure, and before very long, the patrons’ attention had reverted to their previous activities. Gina sat beside him, her thigh pressed against his in a skirt that divided as she sat, revealing her long legs almost completely, which he hadn’t noticed before.