by L. C. Son
“That’s when you learned of Chalmette?”
“Yes. And although I wasn’t sure of everything, it wasn’t until I saw how you looked after the girl that I knew she was more than your kin or friend. It was clear to me that any plan I had would be for naught if I didn’t plan on including her.”
“Well then, my lord your assumption was correct.”
“Yes, my dear. What I hadn’t planned for was just how low Catherine had sunken with her beloved buffoon. Her depravity was quite unexpected. Sure, I knew her to be in a state of despair—but to allow such a state to become of her own flesh and blood is beyond me. There is no way I could just stand by. Even if I had to drag you out kicking and screaming, my dear, I would have taken you far from that place.”
Dalcour’s words are resolute as he speaks, and I believe every word. In fact, I appreciate it. I know too well what it feels like to be taken against my will, but my heart leaps knowing his intent is, and has always been to rescue me from a place certain to be my undoing.
“I suppose I should be thanking you,” I say quietly.
“There’s no need, my dear. However, there is still the issue of young Chalmette.”
“What issue, my lord?” Curiosity fills my heart again, but after knowing he only wants the best for us, the budding fear within me has resigned.
“My plans for you—well, for us really do not quite include your very young sister.”
“Your plans for me? For us?” Heaving another gulp of air, I slowly wonder what he could mean. As attractive as he is, I know he could have any woman he wants. And for as ruined as I am, I doubt he wants me. Even more, I am not interested in him in that way. I’ve never thought of him as so.
Although, I can surely be persuaded—perhaps even with a little kicking and screaming. Abandoned thoughts cloud my mind as the intrigue of it all swarms inside me.
“I wanted to give you a job, Chartreuse,” Dalcour announces, forcefully breaking through my burgeoning interest. His eyes narrow as he gazes at me and restrains a frown. Swallowing the thick air in my throat, I try not to reveal just how quickly my heart plummeted. Dalcour’s face softens and he smiles wide before pulling his chair out from under his desk and plops into it.
“A job?” I question.
“Yes, as my curator!” He exclaims with an almost boyish excitement. “That’s why I was so excited when you identified the auriferous sand. I must admit I was quite impressed.”
“I don’t understand. Do you own a gallery or something like that?”
“Or something is precisely correct!” Dalcour’s eyes beam as he speaks, rubbing his hands together. As he does, everything in me knows the something he wants from me is more than I currently comprehend.
Chapter Nine
“So it’s an art gallery for vampires?” I would almost feel silly uttering such things if I were not looking into the face of the most renowned vampire this side of Louisiana.
Dalcour breaks out in his typical hearty laugh and shakes his head, knowing everything he’s said for the past half hour is practically lost on me. “Well, not quite for vampires but to help vampires. As I have said, I’m on a campaign for civility, if you will, and that also includes those in the supernatural world. Much like you, there are humans who know of the existence of my kind and I want to capitalize on that knowledge. Creating a faction of humans of nobility—those who keep our secrets, help fund our needs and resources—we pledge to keep safe. The fine art we collect will serve as collateral and to also fund our activities over time. Like me, most supernaturals have access to rare findings like the auriferous sand—and most mortals are willing to pay handsomely for it. We’ll also need to curate for things like blood banks and find donors where possible.”
“Oh my,” I say as he continues his rant. Now it becomes clear to me.
“This is why I don’t think it’s best to make your young sister privy to such things,” Dalcour states.
“I couldn’t agree more,” I answer as Dalcour once more takes the words straight from my mouth.
“So are you up for the challenge?”
“Well, it all sounds exciting—at least I think so—but why me? I’m human. If this is for supernaturals, shouldn’t you ask someone who is supernatural. Like Armando, for instance. I mean he is a Bul—whatever you called him before,” I reply.
“He is a Bulwark.”
“Precisely! And until now, I had no idea that was even a thing—or a person—or whatever he is!”
“I understand. I suppose I am not being clear. I want to do something I have never thought to do. I would like to sire you, young one.”
My breath hitches at Dalcour’s revelation. I can’t believe what he is asking me. Even more, I cannot fathom why he is asking me. I’m nothing special.
Then again, that may be the reason altogether. Since I am already a ruined woman what difference would becoming a vampire make?
“I know this is quite unexpected—even for me, I must admit,” Dalcour begins, breaking my puzzling thoughts. “Never did I think I would want to sire someone, but when I saw you last night it became clear.”
“What did you see, my lord?”
“I saw you fight. For your sister. For yourself. I saw a woman who would no longer allow herself to be controlled.”
“You saw all of that—in me?” Looking up at Dalcour, I shrink in his grand presence. While I have never considered myself weak, the fact someone of his grandeur would see strength in me is humbling.
“Yes, young one, I did. But I also saw myself in you. I saw how my actions led you to such a dire state that you had to fend for yourself. And I never want you to be in such a position again,” Dalcour adds in an almost sulking tone.
“No, my lord, none of this is your fault. This is all Catherine. And Monroe. Not you,” I counter, rising to my feet.
“Ah! There’s the fire I saw last night. Still, I must confess my trespass. For if I had not forced my brother to come to New Orleans, he would not have fallen for your sister, Calida. At her passing, it was his broken heart that pronounced countless deaths in the Great Fire. Without Calida, your mother fell into disrepair, which led both you and your sisters into such a destitute state. And it is all those things, dear one, that burden my heart.”
Tears flood my face once more at Dalcour’s admission. Although I do not blame him for the tragedy that has become my life, the weight of it all shatters what remains of my heart.
Rounding the corner of his desk, Dalcour kneels beside me, taking my hand in his. Offering me his handkerchief, he smiles wide, and I am almost lost in the warming lure of his gaze. “This is why I make such an offer to you, young one. I know you are strong, but I wish to make you stronger. I know you can fight, but I want to make you impenetrable. Most of all, I make it my promise to you that Calida’s fate shall never be your own. I will do for you what should have been done for her.”
I am speechless as he speaks. While I suspected he had plans for me, I never imagined such a gesture.
“But it must be your choice,” Dalcour begins, in a throaty tone darker than before as he stands back to his feet. “I will do for you what was never done for me.” Looking up at him, I see a flash of hurt grimace his countenance. “I was born into my fate but you, my dear one, will have a choice. If you should decide this will not be your fate, then so be it. I will send you off, along with your sister, grant you an expense large enough that you will never have a need. But if you say yes, you will say farewell to your sister for a time—only until I teach you to tame your bloodlust. After that time, you will be stronger and more fierce than ever. And then, and only then will you have the power to do what you have always wanted.”
“What is that my lord?”
“Protect your sister. And protect yourself.”
My posture stiffens as he speaks, and it is though his words cling to my soul. He is right. I want that power. I never want to be at the whim of another ever again. Good peop
le like my father and Calida perish. While those like Monroe and Mother are left to abuse and mistreat the weak.
I am not weak.
Nor shall I ever be again.
“Yes, my lord. I want that.” The words spit like fire from my lips. A knowing smile grazes Dalcour’s face as he folds his arms at his chest, and I see the ring of crimson dance once more behind his eyes. Rubbing the stubble along his jaw, a crumpled smile forms along his face and he laughs again, softening his posture.
“Well then, young one, I ask you once more. What shall we do with your sister?”
Nervous jitters run up and down my spine and I can’t believe I’ve agreed to become a vampire so fast. But I know such an offer from Dalcour Marchand will not come around twice. Had I not been decisive, he would surely send me away with no other means to protect myself and my sister than money.
I desire more than money.
I want power.
Being a mere human, yet alone a woman, gives me no power in this world. Being a vampire, however, gives me the kind of power to assure me I shall never be at the whim of another ever again.
“Chartreuse?” Dalcour questions once more, breaking me from my musing.
“My lord?” I tepidly respond, trying to recall his earlier inquiry.
“Chalmette. What shall we do with her?”
“Oh, yes. I’m sorry, my mind wandered. Well, I’d like to talk with her first if you don’t mind. There was a lad who had shown interest toward marriage for her. Of course Mother and Monroe saw to it that the two would never be—but perhaps he may still be interested. That is, of course, if my sister desires to be with him. If not, I should like to send her to school. She’s never had a formal education.”
“I see,” he answers, now somewhat distracted as he pulls his pocket watch from his lapel. “Well, do check with her and see what she would like to do. But I do caution that you should not expose our plans of your transformation. At least not yet.”
“Of course, my lord,” I reply quickly, rising from my seat, hopeful to regain his attention.
“This young man,” he begins, shuffling through the notebooks on his desk. He huffs loud as he looks around his office with a slight air of irritation. “Who is he? Is he of good breeding? What do you know of him?”
Staring around the room, I let my eyes follow his gaze, curious as to what is averting his attention.
“His name is Claudius DeVeaux. His father, Corbin, is the holder of the—”
“Corbin DeVeaux!” Dalcour says, flattening his palm on a stack of books as he stares up at me. Once more, his eyes dance and I sense something is calculating behind his otherwise entrancing gaze. “Yes, I know him well. He runs the leading Post. I dare say I am almost impressed. How did young Chalmette warrant the interest of such a worldly one as the son of Corbin DeVeaux? Surely, he has never stepped foot into the saloon as a tipper! DeVeaux is too haughty and thinks much more of himself than he should to ever allow such a thing.”
“Honestly, that is why I want to speak with my sister. I was quite taken aback by his interest in her. I only knew Claudius to be nothing more than a paper boy. Apparently, he is much more.”
“That he is!” Dalcour’s voice resounds brightly and his face beams from ear to ear with interest. “Well then, I’ll let you get on with your discussions with your sister. And do not worry about young Claudius. If your sister wishes to marry him, I shall see it as such.”
“Thank you, my lord. But it may be quite a difficult task. At last we spoke, Corbin told us should Chalmette be ruined by a man, he would not allow the two to marry. Even though we both know nothing happened between her and Armando, I am sure that fool Monroe spread the news of her ruin to all who would listen. Surely, Claudius won’t take her back.”
My chin falls as I speak, and I realize my dark desires of being a vampire may be short lived. If Chalmette is denied by Claudius again, how can I just send her off to school in order to sate my own needs? I will not vacate her should her heart be broken. But if she doesn’t want to marry him, then perhaps she will not be opposed to the idea of an education.
Either way, I know the decision will not be easy.
“Young one,” Dalcour whispers, now at my side and lifting my chin to meet his tender gaze. “Do not worry about DeVeaux. If your sister wants Claudius, I shall see it done. My daughter, I make it my pledge to you it shall be done.” Holding my face in his large palm, his eyes soften as he stares at me. It is the same look he gave on the day he promised to return to me twenty years ago. Even more, the sincerity of his eyes reminds me of the one my heart misses most. My father.
“Daughter?” I mumble almost incoherently as another stream of tears flood my face once more at his sentiment.
Not once in the last twenty years has such a word been uttered with such sincerity about me. And my, has my soul longed to hear it. Hearing it now, it’s as though a repair is made to my once cast-aside and broken heart.
“Yes, young one. I’ve never wanted to sire anyone before because I knew the responsibility was akin to parentage. But now, here with you, I know it is why I had to come back. You are only the beginning. Now go, or Armando will have my head if I don’t find his amethyst stone. Far be it from me that I be the reason he reverts to his otherwise gargoyle state,” Dalcour mutters his final phrase as he shuffles around his office.
I want to linger and ask the meaning of his words, but I know I must speak with Chalmette.
Opening the door to leave, I look over my shoulder only to see Dalcour’s hand shine with a bright blue iridescent glow as he whispers words in an unknown tongue. Shy and fearful, I rush out of his office, slamming the door behind me. Buckling slightly at my knees, I work to catch my breath. How I can be both intrigued and frightened at the sight of him is almost too tormenting to ponder.
Everything about Dalcour Marchand is hauntingly beautiful. And if I am now to be his daughter, I look forward to my new haunting form with great delight.
Chapter Ten
“Chalmette!” I shout her name as I race through the hall.
“Yes, sister,” she calls back to me and I turn about, wondering where she is as her voice seems to echo through the large marble and oak hallway. I can’t help inwardly wonder how my soon-to-be vampire senses would likely detect her better than my current frail mortal sensibilities.
Rushing to the back parlor, I see Chalmette and Armando seated at a small table drinking tea.
“Are you well, Treuse?” Chalmette questions, frowning as she sips her tea. “Why are you running through the estate like a derby?”
“Someone obviously has no care for civilities such as teatime, I see,” Armando snips as he stirs a tiny silver spoon in his porcelain teacup, blowing it as he does.
Gazing up at the grandfather clock in the corner of the room, I am shocked to see how late in the afternoon it is. I obviously slept longer than I thought.
“I am sorry to interrupt but I need to speak with my sister,” I say as Chalmette chuckles at Armando’s reprimand. “Alone.” I am not amused, and the annoyance of my tone sullies their shared moment.
“Armando knows when Armando is not wanted,” he quips, quickly rising from his seat. He’s still stirring his cup as he walks away but he turns and nods with a quaint smile to me. For a moment I thought he didn’t like me as much as Chalmette, but even in the brief way his smile meets his eyes, I know this is not the case. I think he enjoys giving me a hard time.
“So what did you want, sister?” Chalmette asks, her apparent irritation with me showing.
“I suppose I should ask why my young sister fancies herself to be proper before old, brutish men.”
“He is not brutish. He is debonair. Besides, it is nice to be with someone who’d rather teach me of the civility of the world. It’s quite a turn of pages from any lessons either Monroe or Mother could ever give,” Chalmette replies, while loudly slurping the remaining tea from her cup.
“
Well, then he should have taught you that ladies of dignity do not slurp!” I feign my rebuke with a covered chuckle. Chalmette’s shoulders relax and she smiles back at me and laughs.
“I reckon I have much to learn about being a lady, dear sister,” Chalmette replies with another chuckle.
“No, my sister. You are quite the lady already. Never let anyone tell you different.” Once more, my voice is stern, but only to ensure she hears me loud and clear. I’ll not stand to hear Chalmette disparage herself. At least not in my presence.
Staring hard at me, Chalmette slowly places her teacup on the wooden tabletop yet still keeps her sights on me. “What’s wrong, Chartreuse? What happened? Has Mother and Monroe come here to get us?”
“No, no, sister!” I snap back, trying hard to rein the frenzy I see building within her. “It is nothing of the sort. Quite the contrary, actually.”
“Oh?” Chalmette questions, her face still a cloud of worry. “I—I just thought—”
“No, dear sister, there is absolutely nothing for you to worry about.”
“Nothing for me? But what about you? Please tell me what is going on, Chartreuse!” Searching my face, she grabs my wrists as the weight of her sweaty palms tell me all I need to know of her growing angst.
“First, let me ask you a question. And, please, Chalmette, I need you to answer me honestly,” I begin.
“Anything, sister. Now, let’s hear it.”
Pulling slowly out of her grip, I sit in the adjacent parlor chair. She smiles as I do, pushing her cup away from the edge of the table, allowing me space to rest my arms. “You’re always so gracious, sister.”
“What do you mean?” she replies, still smiling up at me.
“It’s the little things. Gestures. It is how you move the teacup aside, to make space for me. Holding me in all my tearful mess as we left the saloon. You are always doing things like that, sister and I love you for it. And though I am the eldest of us two, so often you find ways to look after me.”
