The Story of the Vampire, L (Completed | Featured )

Part 6 - A Comfort

 "Did you think I kept the letter from him to be cruel?" Dasius demanded, shaking the piece of paper in my face. "What were you thinking?"

I looked at him sideways, silent, indignant, shivering. "Tie your robe tighter. I see his blood on your skin."

His hand went to the stiff white collar of his cotton dressing gown. He fastened the gold button. "Nicky. I'm sorry. I know that you are distressed, but Leis will never leave that boy in London. His lover is mad. You don't know them like I do. You never think things through." He wandered near the desk where I was sitting, wanting to sit in his chair.

It was true that I had left them at the beginning of that love affair in the 1740s. I know little of those times even now. "All I thought was that I wanted Laurent to speak again."

"Like a child," my brother said.

"Let me remind you that I too, have claws, you wretched, foul thing." I was looking around me, fearful that the strange miasma would return. "I'm not so weak as you think."

He gave me a long look, something which trembled between reproach and despair, then settled into the latter. I moved aside so he could sit down, and he did, head too heavy for his neck. Because I was afraid, I went from the desk and into his arms. His fingers went into my hair, cradling my head.

I have always known him. When I had no one else, he cared for me. When I was born, he was there. He kissed my head. I am not the child he knew, but he is the same as he was. A little meaner. A little less worried about making cruelty in a cruel world, but he is the same person as before. We are related by blood only because of Laurent, but blood is not important.

I said his real name and he clucked at me soothingly, beautifully familiar. He hummed a song to me, stroked me quietly, until I felt less fearful, rubbed my back in the cool evening. There was nothing and no one outside his windows. The street was empty at that late hour. I heard a muted thump and a cry from the washroom, but it was far away. Dasius's heartbeat quickened in my ear, but I held onto him.

"Just one time," I whispered.

"If he sees you he will be angrier than with me," Dasius said, already beginning to rise.

"I mean stay with me."

He set me down on the desk and I slapped at his retreating arms, hitting mostly white cotton fabric. Before he left the room I saw him slip a phial out of his pocket and tip it back. Because of that, I followed him.

I caught one glimpse of Laurent sitting up in the bathtub. He whipped his hair around his wrist, water spraying off in a stinging arc. Dasius let the water hit him, sitting on the tile floor, playing the repentent acolyte, giving him pins. I continued down the hall, holding my leg, which Laurent had clawed, and went out the front door.

It was misty. Condensation clung to the gaslamps, throwing diffuse orange light across the half-dressed trees and slick cobbles. I wandered, not knowing where I was going, still new to the neighborhood. Unlike them, I have not lived in Paris most of my life, and am unused to the way its walls seem to move. I thought of our first apartment, late in the 15th century, little more than a basement room, humid and such close quarters. That time is hard to recall, but I have heard stories of my own madness. I'm not much for stories. It's hard to get at the truth when emotions run so high.

At the end of our avenue, there was a four-way crossroads, each street coming at odd angles. I turned all around, trying to get my bearings so I might find my way back. I had a fearful sense that if I chose badly, something awful would happen to me. But I oriented myself by the half-moon, and walked, sleepy-eyed, towards Place Pigalle, which I knew would be awake at that hour.

I must tell you, I have always found comfort with whores. That evening, though I knew I was being followed by something I didn't understand, it mattered nothing. I had the money I'd taken from Dasius's pocket while he'd held me. Knowing he would not choose me, it had been sweet to part the old traitor from his money, and paying for an evening in a warm bed is not much in return for my forgiveness. When I found those doorways and their ladies, a kindly one took me in, and I slept by her bosom, listening to her steady heartbeat. In the morning I would go back, but for now, soft skin, soft breath, the comfort of a life I might have lived.