Perfect Shadows (12 page)

“That is frequently the case, and understandable when you
consider that we undergo tremendous physical changes. It is only logical that
some of them are external. It also serves our survival if we do not look
exactly as we did in life; it precludes some embarrassing questions.” We sat in
silence for a time, each considering the changes in our lives. I toyed with the
ring I wore and tried to remember. I had probably never had much in the way of
jewelry, I thought, and then suddenly remembered a pearl earring Tom had given
me . . . I started to reach up, even though logic told me it was gone.

“They took it, Kit, and gave it to Poley for part of his pay,”
Nicolas said quietly. I hastily asked him if he had taken vengeance upon those
responsible for Rózsa’s illness and the loss of her family. Nicolas settled
back into his chair and gazed keenly at me for a moment, then nodded.

“Yes, I too had my scores to settle,” he said. “Oh, I could not
kill the Inquisition, much as I would enjoy doing so, but I could, and did seek
out the individuals responsible for Rózsa’s imprisonment, and the death of her
parents. The Abbess who had tried to work her to death had died herself that
winter, and so was beyond our reach, but Rózsa’s aunt paid full measure, though
only indirectly with her life.

“In my lifetime I was very successful in business matters, so I
looked into the interests of the family, and within only a few years we owned
it all: Rózsa’s aunt lived out her life on her niece’s charity.” Nicolas’ grin
was no less gloating and wolfish, but his memoir was interrupted by a soft
knock on the door, and Anneke’s entrance. Once again I noted the glow about
her, a glow that I did not see in Geoffrey or Nicolas, or, come to that, in
myself. While I was musing on this the couple excused themselves, leaving me
alone with Geoffrey. I asked about that glow.

“It is that they have not died, Christopher, and we have. They
possess what we need to survive, and we see it, you may call it the life-force,
as that glow, although the longer you are . . . undead, the less you will
notice it unless you actively desire to.”

“What we need to survive?”

“It is not just a question of blood, you see, but of the
vitality, the life. We can survive on the blood of animals, but it is
repugnant, suggestive of bestiality, and, at any rate, cannot fill our needs
for long. Our feeding is a sensual experience, for ourselves no less than for
our chosen, and we are very sensual beings, though this can lead us into
danger. We must be very careful when we feed, neither to take too much, nor yet
too often, from one person. We do not require much, a few ounces only, but we
must feed at least twice a week, more if we are injured. As the experience is
pleasurable to us as well, the temptation is always with us, to feed more often
than need requires. When you were with Rózsa, how often did you lie with her?”

“Two or three times a week,” I answered, feeling my face flush.

“And how often did she feed from you, do you think?”

“Uh, not so often after the first two times, but later—” I broke
off.

“Yes, later she fed more and more often, a need that comes upon
us if an exchange is to be made. I fed from Nicolas every night in the week
before I killed him. He feeds from Anneke only once or twice a month, now, but
if she decides to join him, to become one of us, he will feed more often until
they make the exchange.

“We cannot, of course, feed for nourishment from one another,
there being none of the requisite life-force we require, but such a feeding,
undead from undead, confers dominance among us, sapping the will of the
fed-upon, bending him toward obedience. It will do the same with mortals, and
to a much stronger degree, though it should not be exploited, used rather only
for our safety.

“We can still take the pleasure of our bodies. Our afterlife
would be bleak indeed if we could no longer enjoy our changed loves!” Geoffrey
made a sound deep in his throat, and reached out to caress the back of my hand,
then took it, and finding no resistance, raised it to his lips. His piercing
grey eyes held mine as he pressed his lips to my acquiescent palm. “While I
lived, I would have slain anyone who suggested that I, like my brother Richard,
might enjoy the taking of a man in my bed as much as a woman,” he murmured in a
voice suddenly grown hoarse. I found myself leaning towards him, my breath
coming faster, the desire spreading from the pit of my stomach, making me feel
light-headed and weak-kneed. Geoffrey also leaned forward, catching my chin in
his hand and kissing me, gently at first, then deeply. “Share my bed,
Christopher,” he said softly, his smoldering eyes never leaving mine as he
stroked my hair. Not trusting my voice, I nodded dumbly, and followed him from
the room.

Later, naked and nervous in his bed, I laughed softly, startling
an inquiring look from the disrobing Geoffrey. “I was—remembering,” I said.

“Tell me.”

“No, it’s gone again,” I said in distress. “It was something
about a lover, something unpleasant, I think. Will I ever remember everything?
Or will it always just come like this, in sudden shards? Ice, piercing and
melting away.” Geoffrey turned to me, shaking his head.

“You are healing, Christopher, but how far it will take you, no
one may say. These things that you do remember are the things that are the most
likely to rankle. We cannot allow these things to fester within us, for over as
many years as we have to live, these things can drive us mad, and a mad vampire
is a fearful creature indeed, I assure you.” The merest echo of a threat
hovered between us, and I shivered. “But now,” he added, and took my chin in
his hand, forcing my head back, silencing me with his lips. I smiled and leaned
into an intense kiss, closing my eyes against the pleasure I felt at that
touch, and of his insistent hands roaming my body.

Geoffrey was neither a gentle nor a considerate lover. I had had
no previous experience in the submissive role, but I quickly learned not to
resist him. In the confusion of waking the next evening, I stretched gingerly,
not knowing quite where I was, nor why I felt so battered and tired. I turned
to find Geoffrey was awake and watching me. I reached for him, both desiring
and fearing him, but he batted my hand away. “We should dress now, and go
downstairs, or poor Nicolas will think he has been abandoned. Jehan has
arranged a bath for you in your chamber,” he said sharply. I felt dismissed,
and left to clean up and dress.

I joined Geoffrey on the stairs about a half-hour later and did not
meet his eyes. I well understood the object lesson in last night’s act:
Geoffrey was master, and had exerted his dominion, bending his own nature to
secure my absolute submission to his authority in the most basic way
conceivable, a way to which my sodomite temperament must perforce respond. I
was ashamed, as I had never been before, but grateful too, that he had not felt
his authority needs must be enforced by feeding from me.

Anneke was in the study when we got there, and Geoffrey asked after
Nicolas. “A messenger has come,” she answered in her low and oddly accented
voice. “He will soon return.” She leaned back in her chair, appearing even more
in my two-dimensional sight as a Flemish painting in the firelight. I sat over
by one of the windows, feeling dejected and confused. I looked out at the
night, which was moonless but lit with a glittering profusion of stars. Lost in
thought, I was unaware of Nicolas’ return until a hand was lightly laid on my
shoulder. “You have a letter, Kit, from Rózsa,” he said in a preoccupied way,
handing the paper to me and returning to the fire to speak quietly to Geoffrey.
I contemplated the missive for a moment before opening it, and when I did, I
stared at it for few seconds in perplexity. There was nothing but meaningless
marks on the paper. I stood, shaking, and took a book from a nearby shelf, then
another, and another. As I dropped the third, as indecipherable as the first, a
cry of torment escaped me, and I glanced around wildly, bringing Nicolas and Geoffrey
to my side in an instant. “I forgot,” Nicolas said in great distress.

“I cannot read,” I spat. “I cannot
read
!” Something
Nicolas had said struck me and I stared at him. “You
forgot
,” I
whispered. “So, you knew and you did not tell me, you just left me to find
out—”

“We were not sure, but if it were so, we hoped that you need
never know, Christopher,” Geoffrey said sternly. “It is the result of the
injury to your brain, and you will heal, I promise, but it will take time,
mayhap quite a long time. We knew not if you would be able to recall your
identity, or even if you would be able to speak or understand speech. You are
much, much better off than we had dared to hope, given the nature of your
wounds, but you must not press it, and you must let yourself heal. Christopher,
you are not alone, you are with your family, protected, here with us,” Geoffrey
urged, his voice low, but still firm.

“Kit, my dear friend, I am sorry that my carelessness has caused
you such pain. What can I do to make it up to you . . .anything . . . anything.
. . .” Nicolas’ voice was hoarse with regret. I clamped down on my emotions,
and thrust the letter at him.

“Read it to me,” I said shortly.

Nicolas read:

My dearest Kit,

I hope you can forgive me for not consulting you before making
the exchange with you, but that you are alive and reading this is a proof of a
sort of consent on your part, after all. Mayhap I have much to answer for,
which I will do my best to requite when I see you again, a fortnight or so
after the arrival of this letter. Until Twelfth Night then, my love and my
thoughts be with you.

Rózsa

He passed the letter back to me and I folded it and tucked it
into my doublet without a word, then stood up and left the room. I heard
Nicolas calling after me, and Geoffrey’s soft command: “Let him go.” I could
not face my room, and I wandered around the hall for a time, but the reminders
of my newfound disability were everywhere. I found a heavy cloak near a small
side door and slung it over my shoulders before stepping out into the moonless
night.

The air was cold and crisp, sliding like silk over the skin of
my face, and filled with scents that, being city-bred, I had never noticed
before. There were living things that way, wild things in the forest, and over
there the stable. If I listened I could hear the occasional stamp and snort of
a restless horse.

I was aware of an owl’s silent flight overhead, and heard the
tiny shriek of the small creature it caught just short of the wood. My
eyesight, or what was left of it, seemed curiously enhanced as well, for though
the only light was from the starlight on the snow, I could see perfectly well.
After a moment or two I made my way into the woods, following a narrow path
that eventually led me to a small clearing, a clearing filled with shadowy
shapes that, scenting me, bounded towards me.

Wolves! I felt a moment’s panic even as I realized what these
must be. I stood my ground, and soon they were milling all around me, thrusting
cold noses into my palms, giving me a lick now and then as I knelt in the snow
to shyly pet them. One of the smaller ones began to grow misty, and soon
transformed herself into the serving wench who had saved me from a fall
earlier. Naked, her long dark hair spilling like ink in the snow-light, she
stood still for a full minute while I stared at her, then stepped to my side.

“It is very cold, my lord,” she said in a low husky voice, and
slipped under my cloak with me. I held her shivering against me for a time,
then realized simultaneously that the other wolves had vanished, and that the
girl was barefoot. I dropped the cloak from my shoulders, wrapped it about her
and caught her up into my arms in one smooth motion, then turned back to the
house, carrying her as effortlessly as if she were a child. As we neared the
Hall, she kissed me, and I felt my desires rising and flowing together. I
wanted her; I wanted to take her as Rózsa had so often taken me, to feed both
my appetites.

The door to the study was closed, though I could hear the rise
and fall of voices within as I carried the girl past, and up the stairs to my
room, which Jehan was just leaving. He smiled at me, and my burden, but said
nothing, just held the door, and closed it behind us. I saw that a tray with a
covered dish, wine, and two glasses had been left on the table. I laid the girl
gently on the bed, and sat beside her, feeling rather shy, but she smiled at me
and unwound herself from the cloak. Moving across the floor with a fluid grace
that made me think of music, she poured the wine and returned to the bed,
handing me one of the glasses. I viewed it dubiously, but she laughed low in
her throat. “It will not harm you, my lord. You may still enjoy the flavor if
not the effects. You may take any liquids, and even solid food, if you must do
so to avoid drawing attention to yourself, though you will have to vomit that
up later,” she told me, and laughed at my expression.

“I have lived all my life with vampires, my lord. There is
little about your kind that I do not know.” She took my untasted glass and set
it on the floor near her half-full one. “Kit,” she breathed, “I am Sylvie,” and
kissed me, working my doublet loose and unlacing my shirt, but my desire had
faded, leaving only hunger. Gently I pushed her questing hands away, and she
shrugged, smiling with a sort of wry resignation. “I know,” she said softly,
“women will never be your first choice, my lord, but you must feed, and not
from Jehan again so soon. He is the only one among us who shares your
inclinations, so. . . .” she shrugged again. I pulled her close, and pressed my
sharp teeth against her throat, felt them pierce her vein, tasted her salt
sweet blood as she shivered with the pleasure that my feeding gave her. My own
pleasure welled, spilling over in an act even more intimate than that of
physical love.