by Aderyn Wood
Michael nodded. “And did you find, after you drank the human blood, that more things were opened up to you, that you discovered more capabilities?”
“You seem to know a lot about this. Do they teach you this stuff in the priesthood?”
Michael held his breath, his heart stalling. “How did you know I was a priest?”
Emma shrugged. “I’m not sure. I think it’s to do with the mind-reading thing. I just felt it was true. Just like I know that your heart is broken. A woman broke your heart.”
Michael adjusted his glasses. It was unnerving having Emma know so much about him. “What about Nate? Tell me about him.”
Her eyes narrowed and her mouth turned up in a snarl. “There is nothing to tell.”
“You know he wrote the last entry to your blog? You’ve read it, haven’t you?”
Emma nodded.
“He seemed to suggest that he was going to try to find the gypsy woman to find some answers. Aren’t you curious about what that might mean?”
Emma looked at him. “Of course I am. But how am I to find him? He left me. With no clue as to what I am supposed to do – no help. He simply murdered an innocent woman for me to gorge on her blood, and he laughed at my guilt and then he left.” She spat the words out.
“Perhaps you should try to remember his words more carefully.” Michael’s hands itched to touch Emma’s forehead. If she could remember the conversation, she might glean some hint as to where he went.
Emma held up a hand. “No, I don’t want to remember him.” She stood. “I have to leave.”
“Wait, but it is early, there’s much to discuss yet.”
Emma looked down at him. Her eyes had a definite glow now. “No, I have to leave. This has been the longest conversation I’ve had with anyone. I don’t want the instinct to get the better of me.”
“Emma, I need to talk to you about your family. We need to decide what to do next.”
The snarl returned. “There is nothing that can be done.” She turned to leave.
“I know someone, in Italy. He told me to bring you to him. He will have more answers for you.”
She stopped walking. “Meet me here tomorrow night.” And then she left through the beaded curtain.
Chapter 19
Excerpt from Michael D’Angelo’s case notes
From the ‘Foliss Abesse’:
The young vampyre will draw close to the familiar. Those acquainted with the man who once was, will attract the fledgling’s attentions.
Michael woke to bright sunshine streaming through his window. He blinked away strange dreams and sat up, reaching for his glasses. The alarm clock on the bedside table read nine twenty-two. He had overslept. Bound to happen if he continued associating with vampires.
His phone was dead, so he plugged it in to charge while he showered, shaved, and combed his hair, attempting to keep the cowlick from springing back up. He dressed in his usual black and returned to his phone – three messages. The first was from Judith, and he pressed delete before she spoke, ensuring he couldn’t be tempted again, swallowing the guilt as he did so. The next was from Georgette, asking him to call her as soon as possible.
The third message was from Anais. “Michael, I am going to the market Emma and I used to visit on the weekends. I thought it may interest you.”
Michael dialled Georgette’s number first. “Allo?”
“Good morning, Georgette. Why are you whispering?”
“I am at work.”
“On a Sunday? I thought there was more to life than work.”
“Don’t be cheeky! I wanted to check some footage, and it is best to do it when Schleck isn’t around.”
Michael’s hands tingled just a notch. “Oh? What footage?”
“Some CCTV.”
“Where?”
The sound of Georgette’s heavy breath tickled his ear and the echo of her footsteps followed.
“Georgette?”
“I’m here.” Her voice no longer a whisper. “The footage is from outside her friend’s apartment.”
“Anais’?”
“No, John’s.”
“You see something?”
“A shadow. Like before.”
Michael swallowed. “Can you meet me?”
“It will have to be tomorrow.”
“Very well.”
“Are you meeting her tonight?”
“Yes.”
“Be careful, Michael. Remember what I gave you.”
Michael said goodbye to Georgette with a promise to be careful. He then called Anais and arranged to meet her at the market in an hour.
Anais had told him to wait by the donut stall and when his stomach rumbled he joined the queue to get one of the doughy delights that seemed to be selling like the proverbial hotcakes. It was a good day for the market. Autumn made a last appearance before winter took the city in its grip. Parisians were out, enjoying the morning, wearing bold reds and blues. The sun cast a golden glow over the trees whose few rusty leaves fell in graceful loops over the cobblestones. Michael turned to the sun and savoured the warmth on his face and chest. An image of Emma in the darkness of the cemetery flicked through his mind – she would never enjoy such a simple pleasure as the warmth of sunshine again.
“Bonjour, Pere.”
Michael opened his eyes in time to see Anais lean forward to give him a kiss on either cheek.
“Bonjour,” he replied. Anais’ perfume wafted to him, a light floral scent.
“Could you get me one with the pink icing? I’m just going over to look at those scarves.” She pointed to a stall across the square, before walking toward it, her red-heeled boots clacking on the cobblestones. Her bright orange coat and red beret made her stand out from the crowd though she seemed not the least bit aware of the fact.
Michael bought their donuts and two coffees and wandered over to a big oak in the centre of the square that still clutched some of its leaves. Anais joined him.
“Merci,” she said, grasping the coffee in her hands.
Michael bit into the donut. It was a warm piece of heaven. He suddenly understood why so many were prepared to queue to get one.
“Good, yes?” Anais asked between mouthfuls.
Michael nodded.
“I think these are what I miss most about living in the States.” Michael took a sip of the coffee. “How are you, Anais? No more nightmares?”
“Mostly no. Although I am dreaming more of Emma.”
Michael nodded. He’d been dreaming of Emma himself, but he’d met with her twice now, and she was on his mind most of the time.
“The weird thing is that John’s been having dreams about her, too. Knowing John they’d be the sordid variety though.”
A shiver sprinted along Michael’s spine. He’d been reading about the habits of vampires after they turned. Similar to a spirit who cannot see their way forward, they become stuck, and return to the things they knew most in life, haunting those most familiar to them. Could it be that Emma was approaching them in their sleep, trying to connect?
Anais was looking at him. “Well, we both want to know if you think there’s anything in it? Why are we both dreaming of her?”
Michael finished his last mouthful of the donut, momentarily regretting that he hadn’t bought two. “I’m not sure, but I’ll meditate on it. It could be something.”
Anais gazed at him, her green eyes intense.
Michael turned his head; she was trying to look deeper, to see what knowledge he had. Anais had some kind of ability, even if she didn’t know it herself. It was no doubt what piqued her interest in all things supernatural.
“Well, this is the market that Emma and I enjoyed most weekends. Let me show you to a stall that took her fascination the last time we came here together.”
Michael followed Anais through the bustling crowd. Many Christmas themes dominated the market as stallholders tried to sell their wares as potential gifts. One stall had a picture of Christ on the cross and Michael sto
pped a minute to study it. The Saviour had his head down, the crown of thorns cut deep into his skull; blood seeped from his forehead and his limbs where he’d been nailed to the cross. It was a religious stall of some kind. Crucifixes and holy water were for sale.
“Puis-je vous aider, Monsieur?” An elderly woman smiled and looked up at him.
“Non, merci,” he muttered and walked quickly to catch up with Anais, her orange coat clearly visible ahead.
Eventually they came to a stall nestled beneath a large tree – a red curtained pavilion made from silk and streaked here and there with other colours, mostly red. A poster at the back of the pavilion showed the palm of a hand and another, the symbols from the tarot. The words ‘fortune reading’ in French were painted on each with an arrow pointing to a closed off section beyond a black velvet curtain.
A woman with dark curls that came down to her waist wearing looped silver earrings and bangles, sorted jewellery on the counter. There was also a man wearing a black embroidered vest and a curled moustache, his hands stained with black smudges. He polished a small silver dagger that he was about to show an interested couple. He was probably the silversmith; the craftsman responsible for the silver jewellery and other oddments that filled the stall.
Incense burned in holders on the counter and a sweet spicy aroma filled the space. “Remind you of anything?” Anais asked, an eyebrow raised.
Michael squinted. Yes.
“Emma came straight here the last two times we visited the market. Now, I understand why.”
Michael nodded. It seemed to be a representation of Nathaniel’s descriptions of the gypsies in the seventeenth century. Funny how, in many ways, the gypsies hadn’t changed at all. They would look the same in any century, as though they were timeless. Michael took a few steps around the pavilion to inspect more of their wares. Much of it was silverware – goblets, cutlery. Swords rested in a glass cabinet; exhibits of fine craftsmanship. Next to the cabinet, a table displayed items carved from wood – little figurines of pagan gods, wooden bowls and spoons polished to a smooth lustre. Then he stopped. Two items sat side by side and Michael’s hands tingled.
“Can I help you?” the woman with the earrings asked. The bangles on her arm tinkled when she moved.
“Yes, what are these?”
She smiled and pointed to the first item. “This is a wooden stake made from ash wood. And this is a cross, made from the same material. Both inlaid with silver.”
“What are they used for?” Michael realised she’d spoken to him in English.
Strange.
She looked at him. The Kohl around her eyes made her stare more intense. She handled the stake, her fingers pinching the very tip. It was as long as her forearm from elbow to wrist, and a fine thread of silver lined it. Another work of skilled craftsmanship.
“These are for protection, friend.” She put the stake and the cross in front of him. The cross was very simple. Unlike the crucifixes from the Christian stall, each arm of the cross was equal in length, and a fine streak of silver lined the centre of each arm. He picked them up, and the wood felt warm in his hands. His fingers tickled with a dull tingle. “How much?” Michael heard himself ask.
Her eyes held their stare and Michael couldn’t look away. “These are finely crafted, but for you we will be generous. Take them – a gift. And be careful.”
Michael frowned. “Why—?”
“Some things are known. Things with no explanation. We understand each other. Yes?” She slid the two items toward him.
Michael grasped the two gifts and put them into an inside pocket. “Thank you.” His stomach suddenly jittered with nerves and he turned his back on the stall and caught up to Anais browsing nearby.
“Interesting, isn’t it?” she asked.
Michael nodded. More than interesting. But it was time to move on. He needed to get to Chinatown for the lunch crowd. “Well, goodbye, Anais. Thank you for bringing me here. It has been useful.”
She looked up at him, her green eyes piercing once again. “Tell Emma I miss her.” Michael’s heart stopped. Did she know he’d seen her?
“If you bump into her.” She finished her sentence. Then she moved on and disappeared into the crowd.
Michael got to Chinatown in the early afternoon and found it busy with people enjoying their Yum cha, or strolling along the various shops that displayed proud wares from the Orient.
The dragon outside the Jardin de Lotus seemed less menacing in the light of day. He stepped inside the restaurant. A bustle of waiters worked the floor packed full of diners, neither Liu nor Shen among them.
Michael stopped a waiter in his tracks to ask after them, in English first, then in French. The young man yelled out to another waiter in his own language, Cantonese or Mandarin, and the second waiter yelled something back. The young waiter pointed to the foyer and said, “Wait.”
Michael obliged and took a seat. The minutes ticked by and the sweet and spicy aromas of Chinese cuisine grew stronger. His growling stomach woke in response.
A jade door behind the counter clicked opened and Michael locked eyes with the man who came through it. He was older than Liu, but there was a definite likeness.
Michael stood. “Monsieur Shen?”
“Yes.” Shen appraised Michael with a neutral stare.
“My name is Michael, I came here last night and met with one of your regular patrons, a woman called Emma.”
A flicker of caution interrupted Shen’s gaze, before he set his stare once more. But Michael saw it – that flicker. “You know her? Emma?”
Shen ducked his head an inch, an almost imperceptible nod. Michael squinted. Why so evasive? “You know – what she is?”
A pause stretched out between them. Shen didn’t move his eyes, and Michael forced himself to return the stare.
“I know the woman you speak of. And because you are a good person, I will give you one piece of advice.”
Michael nodded. “Yes?”
“Walk away. Do not ask such questions, in the day or the night. Take comfort in your ignorance.”
“Wait, I can’t do that. Please, tell me what you know.”
Shen shook his head. “I know nothing of what you seek, and you would be wise to know nothing, too. Good day.” He turned and in another instant, the door clicked shut behind him.
In his room, Michael inspected the two objects the woman at the stall had given him, his hands tingling as he handled them. He placed them on his bedside table and took his tablet, opening to one of Emma’s blog posts.
Just as a matter of interest I thought I’d point out that N.C. used the word ‘Aegyptius’ in Latin, to describe what I believe we now call ‘gypsies’, so I have used the term ‘gypsy’ in the following translation even though ‘Aegyptius’ actually translates to ‘Egyptian’.
Michael skipped ahead to the translation of Nate’s diary.
I recall the day the gypsies arrived. They came from the east. I was engaged in the instruction of a group of young squires, practising their footwork in swordplay, a most fundamental skill. I recall this day clearly; it was hot, the sun was a golden fury in a cloudless sky. Now that I remember it, the scent of sunshine lingers nostalgically before me. We tarried in the courtyard of my father’s manor; we heard them before we saw them.
The bells and singing of a most foreign group echoed through the heat. Our ears pricked to the aberration. A strange discordance of music and babel flowed from the woodland’s path. Then we saw them. A caravan of colour. I had never seen such bold crimson, such gaudy yellow. I leaned on my sword and wiped the sweat from my visage, and what I saw next sent a chill through my heart.
A black carriage, led by a solitary black horse, followed the caravan. It was enclosed completely – no windows. All manner of symbols and pentagrams were painted across it. I recall shivering despite the heat and my hand crossed my heart – a fickle attempt to ward off evil.
Michael blinked. It would seem the gypsies had protected the woman –
the vampire who had turned Nate. Michael adjusted his glasses and skipped to the very last blog post, the one written by Nate himself.
I will go to Egypt. That old realm holds the key.
“Egypt,” he whispered, and ice darted along his spine, making him shiver. He shook his head and looked at the time – just after eleven.
Michael put on his woollen coat and wrapped the black scarf around his neck. He paused by the bedside table, his hands hovering and tingling over the items the gypsy gave him. Finally, he picked up the stake and a vial of Georgette’s holy water and put them in his inside pocket before switching off the lamp and closing the door behind him.
Chapter 20
I finish the last scoop of pig’s blood and a new pulse runs through my veins, just as it does every time I feed. My senses heighten. My eyes follow any movement, and all is clear to me in the dim light. My ears detect every sound. I hear the whisperings of two lovers as they share dessert out there in the main section of the restaurant. I taste, smell and feel all. Emotions and fragments of thoughts from some of the diners come to me, unbidden. Yet, I also feel more myself – or who I used to be.
Shen approaches and collects my bowl. “More wine?”
My eyes focus as I try to identify his emotion. It eludes me, but he has no fear, and that is the main thing. “Yes, please.”
“You await a friend?”
I squint; there is something Shen is keeping from me, but he is good at guarding his secrets and the whisperings of the lovers are a distraction somehow. “Yes.”
“We want no trouble here.”
I blink – a very human action, and I like the feel of it. “Neither do I.”
Shen nods and walks away, leaving me with questions I know will remain unanswered.
A moment passes. A small moth in the far corner, its flapping and fluttering in the lamplight draws my attention. Then another movement ahead. Michael walks in. Goodness reeks from him and I want to suck it all in.
