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

Leis, part 8 - A Good Man

I woke early alone and thinking nothing, went rubbing my eyes to Laurent's door. Knocking, I said, "C'est lui-meme, chou-chou est ici," it's himself, pet is here, and ran my fingertips over the wood when he did not come to let me in. "Miou miou," I said, sleepily, smiling like a fool. Do I have a damned spirit? I wonder it. 

He never came to open that door, so I opened it, and there Laurent was sitting, on the edge of his bed, with his sword, a thin, sharp estoc, running its edge over his gold ring. He didn't acknowledge me. He seemed barely to have risen from slumber himself, except for his mood, plainly dark and dangerous. His brow held a deep furrow, blond hair wild as if he had been tumbling in bed elsewhere. 

"Let's get dressed, delicate spirit," I said, quietly, uncomfortable.

"La pulsation, je l'entends. 'Chou-chou'. C'est ca. Est-il nerveux? Je suis nerveux, moi. Mais non. Pourquoi devrais-je? Il le merite." He continued to murmur to himself, stroking his sword against his gold signet. Heartbeat, I hear him. 'Pet', that's so. Is he nervous? I'm nervous, I am. But no, why should I be? He deserves it. 

"Shall I touch you? Will you stop?"

"If you stay here I will go mad. After he is dead, go away. You're making me do it."

"After who is dead?"

"What no 'sweet soul' no 'gentle touch' no 'good head'? What will I do without an epithet?" he parted his knees and drew his estoc against his body as if it were the favored lover, cheek pressed against its hilt. 

"Where is Darkling?"

"You're slow but you're not stupid. I put him in the dark where he belongs. If you listen, as is not your wont, you will hear him crying out. I do not listen. I am not moved. I am happy to die. Great mercy, that it is easier for him."

There came a tingling in me, as if I were not looking upon Laurent at all, but someone else, whom I could not ever know. It was in his face, in his parted lips and the gentle closing of his eyes, the flush in his cheeks, as if he had been striking himself. Perhaps he had been. The muscles of his arms were lean and defined, as they were after he had been exerting himself, plain to see through translucent white silk sleeves tied up at the shoulders.

"I don't know what you've done. But if he is dead I promise you that I will take your sword from you and use it."

"Upon me?" he asked, eyes shut.

"Never. First I will go downstairs and cut Dasius's head from his shoulders. He will not resist me. And then I will cut my wretched lungs out of my body and hope that it stops my heart from beating from then on."

"You would do that to me and not even let me die?" he asked, voice bare of emotion. "Do you want him so much?"

"Yes."

"It would be a hard time, with an estoc for that purpose."

"I am against you. It would give me strength."

"Leis," he said, his voice breaking then, "I am dishonored. I am stripped naked by this. He spat on my face. I am a son of Egypt, of Gaul. I have lived a long time. Should I disappear? It asks me to go away and put away my life. I am consumed by a violence of spirit as I have never known. I am unsatisfied with my life. I want to die."

"Poor, gentle bird."

"I am not gentle. I am not delicate," he said. 

"You are my Laurent," I told him, offering my hands to him, my palms, but he seemed unmoved, weeping against his crossguard.

"Perhaps not that," he wept.

"Not a murderer. Not today," I begged him. 

And then he was on his feet, and threw the sword away, eyes focused and fierce. He pushed me aside and strode into the hallway, shoulders back and head high. I followed him, noticing Dasius at his own doorway, down the hall. As we passed his cat eyes tracked me, but he stood still and silent as a statue.