Neophyte / Adept (22 page)

He looked like a million French francs. His coat and top hat
from a fine French house of fashion. One could tell. His luxurious necktie
spilled out from the lush fabric.

It was an autumnal evening. The horse and buggies were
interspersed with carriage-shaped automobiles. Lennox took in his surroundings.
I was quickly treated to a surprising succession of very rapid murders. He
particularly liked the attentions of women––late-teens,
early-twenties. He killed a number of those.

It was always his practice to let them see just exactly who
they were kissing, before he took them unawares.

It happened so long ago, the part of my brain which should
have recoiled made excuses for Lennox instead.

I appreciated for the first time that Lennox was a vampire.
He was young and in Paris. And a killer.

Clutching Rimbaud’s poems, or somebody else’s, he would
utter into the susceptible ears of his victims his own verse. The girls,
besotted after two seconds, never wavered in their devotion to him, not even when
he drank the
rose honey
of their
blood, or stared into the very mask of their adulation. The light of their eyes
was like two false beacons––begging him to crash upon the tumult of
their shores.

He took from them their very lives, as well as their blood.
And always, always their money. His existence, for all of its finery, was
rather mean.

I also noticed that he tried on various personas. As if he
was entranced by them all, but not certain which he should adopt, the rake, the
genius, the Don Juan.

He would whisper his words so sweetly to them...

Lennox was the man of danger, of allure, he could promise
his victims one night––
but
one night only
... And what a night!

It got so that Asher and I couldn’t look away. I rooted for
Lennox. I hated him. And I was attracted to him. But this Lennox was not
my
Lennox. I knew that now. It was
somebody else.

I knew that he had done these things, yes, but that he was
no more responsible for them––I’m talking about the present-day
Lennox––than I would have been, if the tables were turned, and
Lennox had been judging my faults, my past.

The truth was, Lennox was a vampire, and I was confronted
with the overwhelming facts of that. Of him. Lennox’s faults were laid bare to
me.

The city was in a panic––various people thought
a madman was on the loose.

We heard
him
come,
eventually. The footsteps. When Lennox killed. When he raced
away––with his prize, or without it. When he stalked some
particular lovely young woman whom it was his dearest ambition to annihilate in
some petty, tortuous––but always sexy––manner. At these
times it was like there was another observer there with us.

And so it was, one night, that he, whoever he was, finally
made himself known.

Lennox had murdered again. This time the daughter of a
glover; she had lovely auburn hair and skin that set one’s envy meter on high.
She was a rag doll, now, in the street. The gloves Lennox had purchased were
fetched from his pockets. He paused as if to memorize her body. The way her
hair spread out in the pool of blood, etc.

He bit them sometimes on a place at their groin; and as they
moaned, the heat spread from their wound. It was their breathing quickening
which let them know they were dead. That they were dying.

Lennox savored them only briefly. It was his pleasure to do
this as many times a night as he possibly could, so long as the game itself was
played to its excruciating end. With the glover’s daughter, it had been, he had
been charming her for weeks. Lennox groaned uncontrollably, savoring her
splayed, lifeless body there. Her essence had all but flowed out.

He turned, because someone was clapping.

Marek was standing there. He had been watching Lennox from a
giant sycamore tree. Suddenly, he stepped into the light coming from a
streetlamp.

He continued clapping. Marek’s hands mocked Lennox, whose
face hardened. “Who are you?” demanded Lennox.

It was something, hearing Lennox speak. He didn’t usually.
Usually he just thralled.

“Someone like you. A vampire,” said Marek.

“You
lie
,” hissed
Lennox.

“I stalk the night, killing, devouring. With an appetite
almost as insatiable as your own, my
young
friend. Or should I say my young
fiend
?”

Lennox lunged at Marek, who sidestepped him quite easily.

“I suspect this is your first run-in with someone like
me––except for whoever sired you,” said Marek.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” said Lennox, who
nevertheless continued to crouch, and eye Marek, hoping for some kind of
opening, through which he could attack.

“So I will give you a piece of advice,” said Marek. “Come at
me again, and I will give you a permanent reminder of who I am. I am older than
you. Perhaps you do not realize this now, but meeting me tonight has probably
saved your life. If you call this
living
.”
He nudged the corpse with his boot tip. “My name is Marek, by the way.”

Lennox did not know how to respond. It had been too long
since he had faced anyone equal to him or better. “Lennoxlove,” he said.

Marek nodded. And then smiled. “I can teach you how to
become
more
powerful, if that is what
you wish,” he said. “But first you must learn the rules.” He took in the sight
of the girl on the ground again. “You must curb such appetites, my friend, if
you are to fit in with the Lenoir. They run this place, you see. No, do not try
to run. They will wish to see you. Neither shall you hide. With my help you can
live in the open. But I will want something in return.”

“What?” said Lennox.

“Later perhaps. Come with me now,” said Marek. “And
remember. The eyes of your masters are not upon you
all
of the time.” He smiled, and his fangs, large and impressive,
glinted in the light.

I couldn’t leave; I didn’t want to miss this.

Asher and I stayed there the rest of the night.

Wherever Lennox was now––he was thinking about
his past––
with a vengeance
.

Marek led him through the streets at night. Paris was
another world. It was different than I had ever seen it, more real. But so old.
This must’ve been just after Lennox had been sired. Somehow I had always
thought he was American. What was he doing on the continent?

Marek asked him.

“Looking for somebody,” said Lennox. He was becoming more
personable; he seemed to take it for granted that he could not just kill Marek,
and had stopped trying.

For his part, Marek eyed his
young friend
quite enjoyably from askance; he clapped his hand on
Lennox’s shoulder.

“I see. You are looking for your father,” he said. “Am I
right?”

“I wish––I mean, I have desired
overlong
,” said Lennox, “to know the
secrets of my past, of who I am, and where I come from. Why am I here? What is
the purpose of this existence, and of us?”

“You are a vampire with questions,” said Marek, “which is
not unusual at all. But take it from me. On some things, where I am taking you,
you must keep mum. They will wish to read your mind.”

“It is a power?” asked Lennox, suddenly fearful.

“Aye.”

“But how do I close it so that they do not see?” he said.

“You cannot. Not yet. They have seen you coming for some
time now. The Dioscuri are with them; powerful soothsayers who among other
things keep tabs on who and what we vampires are. Someone saw you coming, my
young friend. That is why I was sent. They seem to think you have potential.
Let us hope they are right. Otherwise,” said Marek, drawing a finger gently
across his throat, “they will try and kill you permanently. I will teach you what
you must do.”

They walked through the early-morning streets philosophizing
about the Immortal Life. And their place within it.

“Perhaps one day you will meet your sire. I certainly am not
him,” said Marek.

“Oh?” said Lennox, who nodded, encouraging Marek to
continue. He was beginning to perceive of him as a mentor.

“Take these practitioners, these Dioscuri––they
only give one the heebie-jeebies; your real sire will cause a different
reaction; you will feel him. It is a him?”

Lennox shrugged.

“I only say because you are quite good-looking, my friend.
Maybe you were made and then forgotten about, once she had taken her fill, so
to speak.” Marek tossed his head back, laughing, and looked at the look on
Lennox’s face.

“A strange figure, that is all that I remember,” said
Lennox, “murdered me... and left me for dead...”

“But you are not dead,” said Marek.

“Aren’t I? I kill. I feed. I am a beast. That is all,” said
Lennox.

“I kill. I feed. I am a beast,” said Marek. “But I am
certainly not dead. On the contrary, I bring death. And perhaps you will too,
to the one who made you. In the meantime, live. And that is an order. These
Lenoir are shrewd. They will walk you into death, in traps made out of words.
You must be nimble, and, above all,
follow
your instincts
. That is all we vampires have, is it not?”

“I have heard that there are other––
things
. Other monsters––out
there,” said Lennox.

“Oh, great heavens, there are, yes, lots of things, and of
such mortal import. It is harder to stay alive as a vampire than as a mortal.
Everything wants to kill you, and some of them can. But you needn’t worry at
present about all of that,” said Marek.

“No?”

“I will help you. Come on...”

The scene changed. Asher explained.
He is skipping ahead, Lennoxlove. Remembering... One thing leads into
another... You understand....

I watched as Marek and Lennox were led into a great hall. It
was like Meadpalace except better, more grand. Vampires were leading Marek and
Lennox. Lennox stuck close to Marek. It was obvious he had not met one vampire
before, let alone all of them.

On a dais, at the front, was a gigantic golden throne, upon
which sat a vampire more aged than any I had ever seen. Wisdom was on his brow.
He had a fine raven-colored head of hair, and his steel-colored eyes merited
fear and wonder; they looked through Lennox, who seemed nervous.

Lennox and Marek continued up the chamber to the Great Seat,
while their vampire guards went to places around various pillars. Only the
Vampire King sat. The others stood, and watched, prepared to obey their
master’s directives, to attack, if that was what he wished. He however greeted
Marek like an old friend.

“Your Majesty,” said Marek, bowing.

“And who is this with you?” said the Vampire King.

“If you will, Your Highness, this is that young ruffian
making the great to-do in the city, sending half the people into early graves.
He says his name is Lennox, Master, Lennox
love
.”

“Indeed?”

“Your Highness,” said Marek.

“And what do
you
say, Lennoxlove?” said the Vampire King, whose name I didn’t know yet.

“I am a vampire... I kill, hunt, feed; not in that order. I
was made for death,” said Lennox.

“Vale. Enough. Here are the rules...”

“Begging Your Majesty, but I have never sworn loyalty to
you, or the Lenoir. I will make my own rules,” said Lennox. “By your leave or
without it.”

“A saucy young hothead. I do not give it. And you shall not
take my leave. Not in that manner.”

The hall boomed with laughter.

“Send for Maria,” said the king; “I must take her council.
And
for the Dioscurus I saw wandering
the halls. Although, if you ask me... We should destroy all such creatures.”

Maria was brought in. She was ageless. The same looking.
Although her eyes, if possible, were even more cunning. Less wise. But always
cunning.

“Majesty?” she said

“Read this hothead,” said the king.

“Yes Majesty.”

Maria blinked––and then opened her eyes wide.
Lennox tried to draw away, but it was too late.

“Oooh, I don’t like him,” she said. “If I were you, Majesty,
I would kill him at once;
at once
, at
once. He has quite a chip on his shoulder. Angry about everything. Although
what it is specifically that bothers him... You, boy, what vexes you? Speak
up!”

“Yes, speak!” said the king, enjoying himself.

“Nothing, if not this Life,” said Lennox. “The very odor of
Paris is a vexation that I cannot abide.”

“And the Dioscuri?” said the king. “Do they vex you?”

As he spoke mist rolled in I realized was aether. The
vampires gasped.

It traveled cloaked in fog. I couldn’t see it; only feel it.

The Dioscurus.

It moved through the assembly, giving the vampires it passed
the heebie-jeebies, as Marek termed it, the sensation which threatened to
overwhelm them. Suddenly it hissed. “You are being watched, Highness,” It said.

The king stirred in his seat, uncomfortably.

“Indeed?”

“This one wants to start a war,” hissed the Dioscurus; I
could only assume it meant Lennox.

Lennox turned from the aether-form, drawing away; it was
almost like the Dioscurus
was
the
dark aether.

“He hides from us; we fear he hides from you too,” It said,
returning its attention to the king, who squirmed.

Maria looked like she was going to be sick. She turned and
ran from the hall. The other vampires clutched their throats.

Whatever it was doing, it was like the Dioscurus was sending
out a wave of silent enmity. Only the King, and Marek, could withstand it;
Lennox clutched his head. The others were suffering...
pain
...

“Banish this monster
at
once
!” said the king.

The Dioscurus directed its attention to the king himself.

“He will start
a war.
A war, Highness.
It will happen all over again.”