Vampire Memories #5 - Ghosts of Memories (16 page)

Bernadette spent the evening with a brittle smile on her face, and Christian was grateful that he’d not been seated beside her at dinner.

Afterward, the young women in attendance begged him to read their fortunes, and he took them each, one by one, to sit by the fire, and he painted their futures for them, reading their minds and telling them what they wanted to hear.

The countess paid only the barest attention to these entertainments, but as Christian was preparing to leave that night, she approached him.

“Several people in attendance here had already sent their apologies,” she said. “But when word spread that you’d been invited, their previous engagements all vanished.” She smiled ever so slightly. “I think everyone was here to see you.”

He offered a short bow. “I doubt that very much, and I thank you for the kind invitation.”

Bernadette said little on the carriage ride back to the villa. Perhaps she sensed they were beyond words.

But after that, the invitations began flooding in. Christian was in great demand, and Bernadette made one last desperate effort.

“I think we’ve been here long enough,” she said. “We are overstaying our welcome. I thought we might move on to visit some friends in Germany.”

“Germany? No.”

Her eyes narrowed. “Are you saying you wish to stay behind? Without me?”

Panic washed through him. He wasn’t ready to leave Florence yet. But then something Angelo had said back in Harfleur rang in his ears:
Has he ever tried it on you
?

Carefully, he flashed a single impulse into her mind, hoping she would not hear the actual words, but only feel the emotional impulse as a mortal would. He’d never tried this on another telepath.
Stay a little longer. He will love you again. Just a little longer.

“Could we stay through the rest of the month?” he asked aloud.

She turned away. “Yes, through the end of the month.”

He kept his face still, but inside, he rejoiced. His gift worked on other vampires.

A week later, he was at a small card party hosted by the countess when she asked him to accompany her to a different drawing room to give his opinion on a new painting she’d acquired.

As soon as they were alone, she looked directly at him and said, “I think I understand the arrangement between you and Madame Desmarais.” She paused. “I wondered if you might consider a change.”

This offer was made so bluntly it caught him off guard, but at the same time, every muscle in his body tightened. She was asking him to become her own “escort.”

He wanted it. He wanted it as badly as he’d first wanted to stay with Bernadette. But there were complications now, and he feared the countess might expect more than he could give.

“There may be some difficulties,” he said, deciding to match her candor. “I find you beautiful, but due to issues regarding myself, I cannot share your bed.”

She didn’t even blink. “I’ve no wish to share your bed. I was done with all of that two weeks into my marriage. But I am not such an easy mistress in other regards. I would expect your strict attendance whenever it was desired.”

She wanted him at her side, and she was willing to bargain. He felt a sense of power.

“As long as you only expect my attendance at night,” he said. “I do not like the sun, and I tend to live at night.” This time he paused. “Also, one night a week I will need to go out by myself, alone…and I cannot ever share meals with you. I will gladly sit with you, but I will not eat. You may have noticed I do not eat in front of others.”

“Yes, I had noticed.” She tilted her head. “What are your other conditions?”

“Conditions? I have none. In all other things, I would gladly be your slave. I couldn’t stop staring at you that first night at Demetrio’s villa, but I couldn’t think of a way to speak with you.”

Her eyes widened, and he knew he’d surprised her. She was more than pleased. For a moment, she couldn’t speak. “Then,” she said finally, “we have arrangement.”

The countess was the first, and he stayed with her for seven years.

Given the fact that Bernadette had already threatened to leave him, he’d found separating himself from her far more messy and distasteful than expected, but in the end, she moved on to Germany. Demetrio didn’t hold this against Christian, as apparently he had left his own maker many decades ago.

He and Christian remained friends.

A year after Christian’s move to Italy, revolution broke out in France, and many of his old friends there lost their heads. He remembered the feeling of darkness that had loomed over him. But he was safe in Italy, and all was well, and he tried to forget the past.

He played his part perfectly for the countess. He showered her with the same gratitude and unadorned masculine flattery that he had once given Bernadette.

But then he met a wealthy, aging Spanish widow who offered to take him to Barcelona, and after seven years in Florence, he was drawn by the promise of someplace new. A pattern developed, and he learned to look for the right type of woman, one who wanted him on her arm but would not object to him sleeping alone and during the daylight hours. Someone suitable always managed to find him just as he was tiring of the last one. After spending eight years in Spain, he went to Austria and then Switzerland and then Belgium and then England.

Occasionally, he was challenged by a rival—as wealthy widows certainly attracted more attention than his—and he’d killed a few men in back-alley duels. But he never broke the first law. He never killed in order to feed.

Then in 1818, the world began to shift again.

He was living with a minor duchess on the south coast of England, when Demetrio wrote him a disturbing letter.

My friend,

You have not been one of us a sufficient time to be part of councils or privy to issues we discuss among ourselves, but something unprecedented has happened of which I must make you aware.

Angelo appears to have lost his reason and has broken the second law. He made himself a son at the turn of the century, and just this year has made another son, a Welsh lord named Julian Ashton, who is damaged. He has no telepathic ability at all and cannot follow the first law. We are hopeful that he will improve.

But this has caused concern among us, and I will keep you informed. Let me know how you are when you have the time. You are often in my thoughts.

Demetrio

Almost immediately after reading the letter, that same icy feeling began to grow in Christian’s stomach again. He tried to ignore it, to convince himself that nothing could touch him here on the coast of England.

Then, not quite a year later, he received a letter from Angelo—to whom he’d not spoken since 1788. He never learned how Angelo knew of his location, but the letter was a summons to Harfleur, along with a veiled threat and a reminder that a favor had come due. Christian immediately left for Harfleur.

What he found there filled him with disbelief and disgust. Angelo met him at a tavern in the village, as Christian did not want to go to the manor.

“I need your help,” Angelo said without even a greeting. “Come into the forest with me.”

What else could Christian do? He had promised a favor, anything that Angelo asked.

Not far into the forest, they came upon the sight of a shirtless vampire, with wild, filthy hair, drinking blood from the open stump of a headless woman.

He’d murdered her.

“Oh no,” Angelo murmured.

Christian stood frozen, but Angelo ran into action, grabbing the crazed vampire and pinning him down, sitting on his chest. “Philip, stop!” he ordered.

“Kill him quickly,” Christian said, finding his voice and running to help.

Angelo looked up. “I can’t kill him. He is my son, my third son.”

Reality came crashing down on Christian. Angelo had made another son, less than year after this Julian Ashton of whom Demetrio had written.

Christian looked down at the blood-smeared creature twisting and snarling on the ground beneath Angelo. Even on the streets of Paris, he’d never seen anything so repulsive. What did Angelo expect him to do?

He walked over to look at the mangled woman. The sight made him feel ill. He didn’t feel pity exactly. Just revulsion. It was all so vulgar.

“Shhhhhhhh,” Angelo was saying, stroking Philip’s cheek. “Be still now.”

The sight of this seemed more macabre than the dead body. “Jesus Christ,” Christian said. “This is madness, Angelo. Do you see this woman? He’s torn her head off. You have to put him down.”

“No!” Angelo shouted.

“This is wrong,” Christian said, striding back. With the exception of the first law, he’d never paid much attention to them, but now he was beginning to see their importance. “And you know it. You’ve broken the third law, and this is the price. Is this why you lured me out here? To stop this slaughter? If so, we’re too late. He’s a danger to our secrecy, Angelo. Either you put him down or I will.”

Angelo sat straight, but he did not get off Philip’s chest. “I will not, and neither will you. You owe me, Christian.”

Both of them fell silent, and the uncomfortable sensation of ice began growing in Christian’s stomach.

“
I
make the demands here,” Angelo said. “Or you will become a new chapter in my book…and I have many details to include.”

“You swore you’d leave me out.”

“And in return, you swore to do me a service when I asked. I am asking now.”

Philip suddenly tried to pitch Angelo off again. But Angelo held him down.

“What do you want?” Christian asked raggedly.

“He cannot speak, so I have no idea how much he understands. Go inside and help him to find words. You’re the only one who can implant suggestions. Just help him to find speech. After that, I can help him myself.”

“Inside his mind?” Christian asked, incredulous. “No. I’m not going in there. Not for you. Not for anything.”

“Then you leave me no choice.”

Staring at Angelo, Christian suddenly wondered how this man had learned so many “details” about him, but then he knew: Bernadette. They were probably in close contact, and she’d told him anything he wanted to know.

Christian was trapped. For some reason he could not explain, he did not want to be included in Angelo’s book.

Slowly, he sank to his knees. Feeling a dread he’d known before, he pushed his thoughts into Philip’s.

Even after Christian returned to England, it took him nearly a year to recover from the madness and blood he’d seen in that feral vampire’s mind. But he did recover and tried to go on with his life.

The thing was…he was growing weary of being the perfect escort, the perfect host to draw entertaining company to lonely women. But he liked good living too much and didn’t know how to else to achieve it.

Worse, Demetrio did not write often anymore, and the feeling of darkness looming over Christian did not go away.

Then in 1826, he was living on the west coast of Denmark with an aging heiress when the last letter arrived.

My friend,

I don’t know how to tell you this, so I will simply write it out.

Angelo is dead. His first son, John McCrugger, is dead.

Your sweet Bernadette is dead.

Several others of us, whom you have never met, are now dead.

I have been hiding some events from you, but in recent years, many of us began to counsel Angelo to destroy his second son, Julian, and third son, Philip…but most pointedly, Julian, who shows no sign of developing his telepathy and will never be able to follow the first law. Our quiet counsel soon turned into a demand and then finally into threats of taking this matter upon ourselves. We fear Julian learned of our plans. He must have believed Angelo would eventually side with us.

Julian’s presence cannot be felt, and he is coming from the darkness to take our heads. I do not know how he is finding us with such ease and haste.

But you must leave Europe as soon as possible. Take a ship to America and flee until this madness is over. Let me know when you arrive. Please do this for me. Your friendship and kindness to me have meant a great deal.

With my love,
Demetrio

Christian stared at the letter. Less than an hour later, he booked passage on a ship heading south toward France.

He crossed France on land and made it to Florence as fast as he could, going straight through to the villa. His own sense of loyalty, of protection, surprised him, but he was not leaving Demetrio to some murdering son of Angelo’s.

When he reached the villa, however, it was quiet, and he went in the back door, climbing the steps and going through the dining room to the terrace. The feeling of darkness was pressing all around him now, and he walked slowly toward the terrace upon seeing Cristina’s dress and Demetrio’s suit on the floor. Small piles of blowing dust filled and surrounded the clothes, and Christian sank to his knees. They were already gone. Dead long before he’d reached this place.