Avalon Revisited (7 page)

“Shunned is a rather harsh word, Cecil. She merely presents a challenge. That’s all. You know how I do enjoy a challenge. And, yes, that is intriguing.”

“Intriguing, indeed,” Cecil replied wryly.

“Don’t be tedious, Cecil. You should congratulate me. This was the first time I’ve felt alive since, well, since I died! No, that’s not quite right. It’s the first time I’ve felt alive since Catherine died.”

“I’ll never understand it, m’lord. Why you hold on to that woman so. She betrayed you. She slept with your brother and lied about your time together. She denied you, much more than three times. She swore before the holy church and God himself.”

“That she did, Cecil, but I forgave her for all of that,” I said with a wave of my hand. “He cast her aside, and I could only watch from the sidelines. My heart broke again watching her in pain, and I swore off love. After Catherine died banished and shamed like a harlot, I swore off love. I saw that life and especially love was too painful, too disappointing. Plus, I found much greater pleasure in carnal activities than romantic ones. Although, I do enjoy feigning the romance. This Avalon was different. She has stirred something inside me I thought long dead.”

“She’s a challenge. Nothing more.”

I flew at Cecil so quickly he didn’t know what had happened until he was pinned by the throat against the wall, feet dangling off the ground. The silver tray he had dropped was still clanging in the background. Shards of my broken teacup were scattered across the marble foyer floor, and my fangs were bared and eyes red. I showed him just how serious I was.

Cecil, of course, was familiar with my tantrums, so he hardly blinked at the show of my power.

Calmly he said through a hoarse whisper, for I was practically shutting off his windpipe, “I see this means quite a lot to you, m’lord. My apologies.”

I dropped him and regained my composure, looking completely human once again.

“Now. Help me, Cecil. What can I do to catch this lady?”

“You do have considerable powers of persuasion, m’lord,” Cecil said, rubbing his throat.

Point taken.

“True. But I do not wish to frighten the lady or cause her any harm.”

“You know perfectly well this is not to which I was referring, m’lord.” Cecil had now begun to collect the broken teacup shards.

“Yes. I do have considerable natural charm as well, but she hardly spoke to me tonight.” I leaned against the wall and crossed my arms like a petulant child, pouting. “She wouldn’t even agree to calling me by my given name. Too informal, she said.”

“She sounds like a lady of much integrity, m’lord.” He picked up the fallen platter and began wiping up the spilled tea.

“That’s what I was saying, Cecil! She’s special. She’s not one of those haughty harlots who are on their backs with just a kind word and a flattering flirtation. Nor is she a shy maiden, blushing at the thought. No, Cecil, this one is strong. I could feel it in her.”

“What about your other powers, m’lord? Surely you could use them to persuade her.”

“Of course, Cecil! Thank you for the reminder, good man. It has been so very long since I’ve needed them to persuade a woman! I almost forgot that I could!” He was, of course, referring to my vampiric powers of mind control. I could subject my will upon the weak minded, especially.

She was not weak-minded, however, but it was worth a shot. If only as a last resort. I would certainly prefer the lady come to me of her own accord.

“The night is still quite young, m’lord. Are you in for the evening?”

“It
is
young, Cecil! It is positively infantile! I think I will go out for a drink and perhaps a romp as well. Don’t wait up.” I donned my top hat, slipped on my gloves, grabbed my overcoat, and headed for the door.

“No, m’lord. I never do.”

The night was cool, even for London. A soft mist filled the air, and I thought about how lucky we had been earlier in the evening. The clear skies were perfect for the airship flight. I smiled as I remembered how Avalon’s skin looked in the moonlight, highlighting her cheekbones and lips.

The curve of her nose. How I could see each eyelash and each wispy hair along her jawline in the bright, clear night. But now it was foggy and misty and grey, just as London usually was.

I didn’t call for Thomas to drive me, but rather set out on foot. It was just past midnight, so I had several hours until dawn. I was feeling a little hungry, but it couldn’t be a high profile kill.

Perhaps it wouldn’t have to be a kill at all. Certainly would be better not to leave another body so soon. I could sharpen those persuasive powers Cecil mentioned on a barmaid somewhere. Maybe a whore. Of course, I wouldn’t need them for either. And if I did, it wouldn’t take much, for they were customarily of the weakest minds. A whore, I settled upon. Satisfying two desires in one without a fuss. There was time for practice later. Tonight, I had renewed desires in need of satiating.

“Yes,” I said to the London night, “a visit to the Chamber of Horrors is just the thing.” It was well over an hour walk to Gray’s Inn Road, but it would be well worth it. Definitely my type of establishment. I could grab a cab home if I ran too late. I cut through Hyde Park with a skip in my step and turned onto Bayswater. Few people were out this late, so it was a relatively quiet night. The thick fog hung in the air, and my thoughts turned once again to my dear Avalon. She was no doubt snuggled into her bed, sleeping soundly. All alone, and I hardened at the thought.

I will have her. Forever.

I had long since given up on the idea of turning a companion, as I became bored with most women after a few hours. I couldn’t imagine spending eternity with someone like Emily Bainbridge, but Avalon inspired me to think on it once again. And only after one meeting. What a remarkable woman. To spend eternity with that perfect face. To kiss the perfect “o” of her soft lips. I had been too young in my new life to have had the presence and foresight to turn Catherine before she married my brother. I’ve regretted it ever since. I had resigned to live this life in solitude of heart, if not in body. Now I could have both, but how to do it? Certainly I could force myself on her, by the time she knew what had happened, she would be on the road to turning herself. Still that was risky. For her to hate me for all eternity would be quite unbearable.

That would only be a last resort.

The gaslights on the street corners hissed at me as I passed. They gave off a fuzzy, warm glow through the fog and kept me on track, allowing my mind to wonder to Avalon again and again without fear of losing my way. Before long, I turned onto Gray’s Inn Road and slipped down the alley. The door to the brothel was well hidden. One had to know where one was headed to find it. It was not a normal brothel, if there was such an animal. This one didn’t advertise its presence, as it was of serious ill-repute. If London society knew what went on behind these doors...

I removed the wide black sash from my hat and covered my face with it, allowing only my eyes to show. Best disguise one’s appearance at such a place. As I entered, the door hit a bell suspended from the ceiling, announcing my entrance. The parlor looked like any other, albeit shabby and dank. It was decorated in deep burgundy tapestries and upholstery, lined with a faded gold. Few oil lamps, very dimly lit, barely kept it from being downright dark. A lone woman, old and wrinkled, with her features mostly hidden by a scarf, sat in a corner on a once overstuffed chair. Now it looked as tattered and worn and saggy as the woman herself. A retired prostitute, no doubt. She bore the look of one who had lived a very hard life. There weren’t many whores who lived to her age. Either from foul play or disease, whores usually died relatively young. But then everyone died relatively young compared to me.

“Good evening, sir,” she said in a crackled voice. She didn’t question my appearance, as it was understood here that discretion was of the utmost importance.

I nodded to her.

“What be your pleasure tonight sir?”

“Chamber of Horrors,” I said in a deepened voice, thick with an assumed Irish accent.

“It is occupied, sir. It is one of our more popular rooms, normally by appointment only.”

I took out twenty pound notes and slapped them down on the table next to her. She regarded them for a moment before speaking again, perhaps counting them in her head.

“For this you could buy a virgin, sir. A very young virgin.”

“Virginity is not necessary, and I like my women older.”

“Are you sure, sir? We have a newly acquired young virgin, fresh and frightened.”

“Quite sure. Give me one of your older ones. At least thirty, and I want that room.” I put down another few pound notes to ensure my request. Money, after all, meant nothing to me.

“Of course, sir. Give me a moment, and I’ll see what I can do.”

The old woman hobbled out of the room through the only other door, probably to construct some lie to the current patron, inspiring him to change rooms. I waited, looking at my dank surroundings. Wondering how many of London’s elite had enjoyed the dark pleasures of this place. A few minutes later she reappeared.

“This way,” she said to me, and I followed. She led me down a dark hall past many doors from which screams, not the pleasurable kind, could be heard mixed with the moans and grunts of ecstasy. A man, fat, rather old and saggy himself, and naked except for a covering on his face, came out of the last room on the left. A young girl, no older than fourteen, cowered in the corner, naked as well. Her face was stained with dirt cut through with tears. Her expression betrayed the knowledge of countless horrors, and at such a young age. Criminal, really.

“Out, I said, out!” the old woman cried to the cowering prostitute, who stood up, knees shaking, and ran out of the room. The man with the covered face grabbed her and threw her into the open room across the hall. I could plainly see that roughing her up excited him. I wondered who among us present was the true monster. He slammed the door and she screamed again.

“Right in here, sir. Someone will be with you momentarily.”

“Thank you,” I replied. The old woman closed the door behind her, and I looked around the room. It had been awhile since I had been here, but it was good to be back. The implements of torture adorning the walls and the rings hanging from the ceiling started the blood flowing southward. In the center of the room was a padded table that resembled a rack, that medieval torture device, as it had restraints at either end for the hands and feet and a leather strap across the middle as well. One could utilize the full length of the table or drop one or both of the leaves to keep the wench, at least partially, on her feet. This would be a great night.

I heard the door open behind me, and the woman standing there was definitely at least thirty.

Perhaps even forty, just as I liked them. Prostitutes were a little worse for wear than the elite by this age, however. This one was missing several teeth. The ones she did have were nearly black.

No worries, it’s not her mouth I was interested in anyway. At least not this time. Although I certainly had the means for a higher-class whore, and sometimes I certainly indulged in that, variety and all, I found this kind to be more willing for my particular type of debauchery. And it was important that they were quite willing to participate. After all, they all felt more or less the same. It was likely this one hadn’t had a customer for quite some time, as the current licentious trend among the well-to-do are very young girls, preferably virgins, often stolen right from their homes. I found it all to be quite distasteful.

“What’s yer pleazha, gov’,” she said in a thick cockney, flashing her mostly toothless smile.

She opened her tattered robe, and I was pleased to see that her body was still quite nice, not at all as rough as her face. “I’ll do whatevah you like, m’lord.”

“Drop the robe,” I said.

She did so without hesitation and smiled.

I took the silk scarf off from around my neck and gagged her with it. She didn’t jump or even seem surprised. This was my kind of girl. After all, screams get old after a while. I lost that desire near the end of my first century. Consensual was always more fun, at least until the end, and that only rarely. Like the other night.

I hardened at the thought of that. Her skin had been so smooth and easy to pierce. Ah, the aristocracy.

“Anything?” I asked her, full well knowing the answer.

She nodded, smiling around the scarf stuffed into her mouth. At least I couldn’t see the toothless smile anymore. A definite improvement.

“Tonight, you’re Avalon,” I said to her, leading her to the padded table. I dropped both end leaves and strapped her ankles in one side and then, having her lie across the top and down the other side, strapped her arms in as well. She watched me as I walked around her. Perfectly compliant.

“Now, Avalon,” I said to the prostitute as I took a knife off the table of toys situated next to the padded table. It was filled with knives, pliers, saws, and other torture devices, some rather rusty. Fear flashed in her eyes. “I’m showing you this now so you will not be afraid. I won’t be using this or any other of these crude instruments.” I tossed the knife back onto the table with the rest. “I will, however, be using this.” I produced a silver ornament from my pocket and slid it over my right forefinger. It covered the entire digit, jointed in all the right places, as if it were silver armor. The pointed tip extended another two inches from my finger tip and was razor sharp. “I won't cut deep. I just enjoy some blood with my fucking. All right?”

She nodded, relaxing a little. Judging from the scars on her back and legs, she wasn’t new to a bit of rough play. Judging from the ol’ chap across the hall, I was likely far from the most sadistic client she has had in her tenure.

I went over to her and whispered in her ear, using my special power of persuasion, “Do you trust me?”

She nodded again, and her eyes began to close. I wasn’t rusty at all.

Careful to keep the armored finger raised off her skin for the moment, I ran my hands up and down her back. She moaned through her gag.