Hotel Transylvania (9 page)

Other men had joined them now, among them Achille Cressie. Lucienne saw that there was a red welt on his forehead, and felt some satisfaction in knowing that the perfume jar had hurt him.

"... in the library. Immediately. We have less than an hour in which to finish the ceremony. It will be three months before we will have the same powerful influences for an Amatory Mass." He was already striding off toward the wide French doors leading into the house.

The men with Achille were delighted to obey. As Achille grabbed her legs, de Vandonne pulled at her arms, ignoring her moan as her shoulder was wrenched again. As they lifted her into the air, she fainted once more.

When she opened her eyes this time, she thought for a moment that her terror had been ill-founded, and that she had been taken to a physician for help. She was lying flat on a table, and there was a crucifix suspended over her head. Cowled figures stood around her. She was about to speak, to offer thanks for her rescue to these good Brothers, when she realized that she was still naked, and that the crucifix was inverted. Even as she saw this blasphemy, she looked at the corpus more clearly, seeing the obscenity that had been made of the Body of Christ. The erect phallus was as long as the torso of the figure, and a pentacle was engraved on the forehead. She turned away, crying openly now, knowing that she had not escaped at all.

"Excellent, excellent," Saint Sebastien said, very near at hand. "She is conscious. So much the better." He addressed the hooded men around him. "You may use her as you will until three of the clock, once I have done with her, I will take her maidenhead, and will use her again just as the hour strikes. Keep that in mind. First and last, she is mine. Employ your lusts on her and on each other, but her virginity is mine."

De Vandonne spoke, his voice shaky with excitement. "Will she submit, no matter what we do?"

"She will submit," Saint Sebastien said with such utter certainty that Lucienne despaired. "If she does not, complain to me, and I will remedy that." He nodded to the hooded men. "I think perhaps you had best tie her down. The ropes aie fixed in the altar. And put the Devil's Member near at hand. I will need it at three o'clock. Be sure it is hot enough."

"When you are done, who will taste her first?" asked one of the men in a coarse voice Lucienne did not know.

"You must ask our host. It is for her husband to dispose of her. If he does not want her himself." This last was said with an unpleasant laugh.

Achille grinned hugely, and there was genuine amusement in his tone as he said, "Le Grâce is so eager, and we of the aristocracy so rarely have the chance to do something for our lesser citizens..."

"Achille!"
Lucienne cried out with all her soul.

Her husband's words stopped her cry. "Silence her, Le Grâce."

She felt the rough hand cross over her mouth, and the inexpressible horror as her legs were tied, and her arms. She heard the hated voice of Saint Sebastien above her. "Dark Lord, this is for Power."

At the first touch of his intruding flesh, she screamed, writhing in her bonds. Where was her dream now, the gentle hands, the sharp delight of kisses that were as the breath of life? Fierce, hating eyes looked down on her face as Saint Sebastien violated her. She bit her lip to stop the scream in her throat, wanting to keep this satisfaction from her rapist.

Later they tore other sounds from her, and used her in their cruel delights. By the time Saint Sebastien donned the Devil's Member, Lucienne Cressie was only half-conscious, so that this monstrous invasion took only a sigh from her as she passed into unconsciousness again. Some of the Circle watched this moment with gloating faces, but Achille Cressie was not among them. He was deliciously, doubly impaled, and had not the slightest interest in what had happened to his wife.

Text of a letter from the manservant Roger, to his master, le Comte de Saint-Germain, written in Latin, undated:

To my master:

I have continued my observation of Saint Sebastien, as you commanded me to do. It is as you suspected: he is gathering a new Circle around him. Already they have met, at the home of Achille Cressie, who has given them his wife. She was alive when I left at dawn, but I fear she is distracted from the use to which they put her. Saint Sebastien deflowered her, and after the others were through, raped her in the Satanic manner.

You wished to know who among those attending the circle I recognized. They are as follows:

de Vandonne

Châteaurose

Jueneport

de la Sept-Nuit

Le Grâce

If you desire it, my master, I will continue to follow

Saint Sebastien. He is vile, master. I pray you will destroy him.

I have taken the liberty of summoning a priest to La Cressie, but the household has refused to admit him. Perhaps you will succeed where I have failed.

This by special messenger, at matins. From my own hand,

Roger

Chapter 7

Hôtel Transylvania glowed like a box of jewels for some colossal goddess. Every passage was lighted with fine beeswax candles, each chandelier glowed so brightly it seemed to be alive. The Great Hall had been expanded in the latest mode, and a gallery had been added for those who wished to promenade. The only thing that was missing, which would have made the Hôtel a complete success, was the mirror-lined wall in the Great Hall. Since the founding of Versailles, every large building was expected to have mirrors. But in Hôtel Transylvania, the mirrors had been replaced by gigantic paintings of rare beauty. Two were allegorical, showing Zeus at various of his exploits, and one, a somber painting of the death of Socrates, was an authentic Velâzquez. Smaller paintings adorned the wall, and all drew exclamations and admiration from the glamorous crowd that flocked there.

The gambling rooms were set aside in the north wing of the gigantic three-story building. They were opulent as the rest of the Hôtel, but their grandeur was secondary to the risks taken in them; fortunes changed hands under the crystal shine.

In the rest of Hôtel Transylvania, it was festival time. Several tubs with full-grown orange trees had been arranged down one side of the grand ballroom, and the musicians' bower was filled with flowers. Everyone commented on the extravagance, and secretly envied the wealth displayed in those perishable flowers, for in October, flowers were hard to come by in Paris, and those that were available were terribly dear.

Lackeys and waiters in salmon-colored livery moved through the bustle, performing their services swiftly and unobtrusively. Every man employed by the Hôtel was well- mannered and spoke acceptable French, treating all patrons of the Hôtel with the most becoming deference. The wine was served in the best crystal, the cognac was the finest The china set out at three luxurious buffets was wonderfully translucent, the silver service a superb example of the most elaborate Italian craft. The food was haute cuisine, prepared by a small army of chefs and scullions in the cavernous kitchen at the back of the Hôtel.

La Comtesse d'Argenlac turned to her companion and smiled. "Ah, Marquis, if amid all this splendor you have noticed my niece, she must be complimented in the highest degree. For I protest I have never seen anything to equal this. Everything superior, no expense spared, and all in the best of taste."

Le Marquis Châteaurose bowed slightly. "But this is mere pomp, and tawdry elegance. How can it hope to hold my attention when there is a breathing woman as splendid as Mademoiselle de Montalia to take my eye? All else must pale beside her."

"Of course," Madelaine's aunt said, her eyes narrowing slightly. She had thought this young noble a fine catch for Madelaine, but she found his words too effusive, and it seemed to her this was artistry, and not the sentiments of his heart. She knew that often men of rank sought wives they would be proud of as hostesses, as ornaments to their nobility, for it had been so with her and her husband, and she knew what emptiness was found in such a match. She nodded measuringly. "I will be proud to present you to her," she said automatically, as she led the way through the crush on the dance floor to where her niece stood at the punch bowl taking in a veiy animated way with le Comte de Saint- Germain.

"My dear," Claudia called to her niece as she drew nearer. "Here is le Marquis Châteaurose come to meet you. He has admired you at a distance, and seeks to know you better."

Le Marquis made a profound leg and rose with a flourish that showed off his gorgeous attire and excellent figure. He cast a withering glance at Saint-Germain, then addressed Madelaine as he kissed her proffered hand. "I have longed for this moment since I saw you first when you rode to Bois-Vert. It has taken me these several days to have courage enough to approach you."

Ordinarily this speech brought a blush and a simper from the women he lavished it on, but Madelaine said, "If you need courage to address me, may heaven help France on the battlefield."

Châteaurose was taken aback. La Comtesse was concerned, as much by Châteaurose's manners as by Madelaine's rudeness. It was Saint-Germain who filled this awkward gap, saying with a smile, "I fear you underestimated the fortifications, Marquis."

But le Marquis Châteaurose had recovered his countenance. "You have no idea," he said to Madelaine, as if he had not heard Saint-Germain, "how refreshing it is to find a girl who says what she thinks. Pray do not curb your tongue for my sake. I find such artless speech charming."

Saint-Germain stepped back and made an almost imperceptible gesture to la Comtesse. "Why did you introduce him?" he asked sotto voce when she stood beside him.

"He asked me to," she answered in the same low tone. "His family is excellent and I have heard nothing to his discredit."

"If you have heard him
speak,
you know something to his discredit. He does not expect Madelaine to believe that drivel he tells her?"

La Comtesse shook her head. "Is there more I should know? You seem alarmed, Saint-Germain. Do you know anything against him?" She was concerned now, for she had realized weeks ago that Saint-Germain knew more of what happened in Paris than any three of her other acquaintances combined.

Saint-Germain did not answer directly, but stood gazing at the far wall in a mildly distracted manner. "I understand you wish her to avoid Beauvrai's set," he said at last.

"At all costs."

He nodded. "Very well. I tell you now that Châteaurose has been seen with Saint Sebastien. Whether he is involved with that set, I do not know for certain, but he makes no effort to avoid them. That much I will tell you. Perhaps you would like me to tell Madelaine something of this? She is so charming a girl, it would be a pity to see her abused."

La Comtesse glanced around the crowded room, and noticed for the first time that de les Radeux and Beauvrai were there. "Please, Comte, please warn her. My brother's fear for her may be unfounded, but I confess that Saint Sebastien alarms me. I cannot forget that La Cressie has received no visitors these last four days, and Achille is often with Saint Sebastien."

"Poor Claudia," Saint-Germain murmured as he kissed her hand sympathetically. He turned to pour her a cup of punch.

She took the cup and sipped at it, then asked with unaccustomed awkwardness, "I do not know if you are willing, but I would appreciate it if you spoke to Madelaine in private. She may have questions, critical questions that could not be answered here"—she gestured to the glittering room—"but in private...."

At the far end of the room the gathering of musicians completed the concertino, and applause rippled through the crowd. The musicians rose, bowed, then prepared to play dance music once again.

"Certainly. I will secure one of the small chambers, if you like. Do you wish to accompany us?" His compelling eyes looked into hers, and it was as if he saw her very soul.

La Comtesse felt divided in her mind. She knew that as her niece's chaperone she was obliged to accompany her, but she also felt that Saint-Germain was an honorable man, past the age of folly, and discreet. No scandal was spoken of him. No knowing nods and veiled allusions were attached to him. She met his gaze, and her thoughts cleared. It would attract less attention, give rise to less comment if only Madelaine absented herself from the ballroom or the supper room. If she was seen with Saint-Germain, he was only her escort. But if she were seen with her niece and Saint-Germain, particularly as they withdrew, then there would be food for gossip, and might alert Beauvrai, which in turn would endanger Madelaine.

"Very wise of you," Saint-Germain said, and la Comtesse was puzzled, for she did not remember speaking. "I will withdraw with Madelaine in a short while. Perhaps if you were to go into the supper room, her departure will not be noticed, or if it is, all will assume I am bringing her to you."