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

Part 3 - A Small Blossom of Blood

That night Laurent sent me away without setting his hair or painting his face. I helped him into bed and he held onto me, whispering desperate apologies for deceiving me and calling me a slave. I kissed his cheeks and he clasped his hands behind my back so that I couldn't get away.

"Say that you are not angry," he pressed, kissing my resisting neck, holding fast my stiff body.

"Never."

He had parted his lips then, slightly, for a kiss, but I hadn't kissed him.

"Are you so hurt?" he'd asked, gentle. He had slipped his hands up my shirt and pressed them to the curve of my back. "Your breath gives away your desire," smiling.

"Laurent, go to bed," I'd admonished him. 

"Your brother has been here weeks, hiding from you. Be natural with him. He's ill and won't say why. You know not to press him, don't you?" His face seemed so concerned that I had given him a little kiss then, which pleased him enough to let me go.

I'd gone to bed, putting away the new information about Nicky and locking my bedroom door behind me. It would be no good to get hung up on details, and fighting Laurent had made me tired. Early every morning, I was getting up to visit the scene. The scene then was much the same as now, though the faces have changed. Necessities of documentation and census had made things difficult, but there are always people interested in the unknown, who want to visit what to them is a mysterious darkness. I suppose visiting the unknown comforted them, in that dark time after the war, to feel near spirits. There were young women then, especially, who slipped into dark rooms afterhours to be kissed and whispered to. I knew them not at all beyond the few minutes we spent together, and it wasn't them, of course, that mattered. Laurent is right that one should never kill unless there is something worth taking. On that we agree, but killing is hardly ever necessary, especially as increasingly there is a class of people bored of life, and use those who require them for a little excitement and nothing more.

It was a matter of knowing where to look. While in bed I went over the schedule in my head. 4am, wake up and set out. 5am, return and find the hollow silver needle. 6am, head to the station in order to visit the doctors in the north, who might speak with me about provision of eyes. It was a simpler matter to get them than Laurent thought.

So it was that I rose at 4am, and returned an hour later, but when I went after the silver needle it was gone. I went up the stairs and down them again, searching through Laurent's hidden snuff boxes and jewelry cases. Finally, I lowered the stairs into the attic to search amongst the cobwebs.

And there was Nicky, tucked under a rack of old clothes, curled up asleep. When he heard me, he lifted his head. "You've startled me," he huffed out, quiet voice angry, rubbing his eyes.

"I'm looking for something," I said, going to a squat chest where I knew Laurent had hidden things in the past.

"He's not been up here." Nicky uncurled slowly and gripped the rack to stand up. There was dust in his hair, and he shook it out with his hands. He looked well kept, long brown hair curled and neat, clean, but his little face was drawn.

"Nicky, I'm looking for the needle. You know the small silver needle that we use for drawing blood."

"I know that needle. Why do you need it?" He went to the fan-shaped attic window and looked out. "It's morning."

"Yes it's morning. You know that he won't be up for several hours yet. I will leave a phial behind for him."

Inside the chest there were only clothes and old shoes.

"Only a phial? You've not changed much. Stingy as usual," Nicky said, coming over. He pressed his hands into the skirting of my coat, resting his head at my hip.