The Vampire (THE VAMPIRE Book 1) (32 page)

By the time they exited the gondola, after gliding along the canal itself and seeing aspects of Venetian life as it could only be seen from that vantage point, it was already growing dark. It was their last evening in Venice. Jason expected Augere would want to be rid of him now, off to enjoy the pleasures of Venice on his own. He imagined Augere meeting up with friends. It would be others tonight and not himself who shared a relaxed evening in Augere’s company.

As if sensing Jason’s disappointment, Augere said to him, “Perhaps, unless you have other plans, you would agree to accompany me? I enjoy walking cities at night. There is quite a different ambience then.”

Jason didn’t want to appear too eager. He nodded slowly, delighted at the prospect. First they stopped to enjoy a glass of wine, and then another, at a very tiny and very charming bar. Augere seemed to be well known there. Either that, or it was just a remarkably friendly place.

Afterward, Augere led him, at a comfortable and a leisurely pace, through the darkened streets, confident of his sense of direction.

They began to cross a large bridge and Jason asked if they might pause there briefly. “Unless you want to go on—I don’t want to keep you.”

“I will wait,” Augere replied. “Is something wrong?”

“No. I just wanted to linger here a while. There is so much history here, and I feel a deep sense of mystery everywhere. It’s just that this is my last evening in Venice, and I’m not eager for it to end. I read if you stand on one of these bridges, stand very quietly, at night, for a while, you might have the sensation of someone brushing past you, or touching your hand or cheek lightly…but there would be no one there that you could see.”

Augere glanced briefly around him, at the things unseen by Jason, clearly visible to him. Some of these were things others probably would not ever want to see and Augere often wished he didn’t see them either. At least he could quickly banish them when he wanted to. But there was no other living being in the area. It was peaceful and quiet with the moonlight shining on the dark water.

Augere indulged in several moments of private thought about his previous visits to Venice. At least ten times or more for Carnivale, between 1870 and 1895; then at least once a year from 1922 to 1928. Maintained a residence here throughout all of 1948. Then probably two dozen times or more from 1960 on…Jason stood for several minutes without moving or speaking, and then crossed to the other side of the bridge and did the same thing, lingering there for a while. Augere stood close by, behind Jason and off to one side. Jason stood gazing silently out over the moonlit canal.

“I was hoping to have some kind of paranormal experience.” Jason sighed. “I swear I can feel a supernatural presence—right here—and it’s almost as if I could reach out and touch it.”

Jason did not witness Augere take an involuntary step backward.

“One should be cautious about what one wishes for.”

Jason turned to him with a shrug.

“Shall we go now?” Augere asked.

Jason nodded slowly and they resumed their late night stroll back to the hotel.

Chapter 16

Paris

The next morning Jason had the hotel-provided breakfast in the small, elegantly appointed dining room. Crisp white linen table cloths were the only thing that did not seem derived from the Renaissance period as he enjoyed a simple breakfast. From somewhere nearby church bells tolled, a sound that seemed vaguely sad to him, as he lavished butter on soft bread rolls. He had slices of meat and cheese to accompany this and found he was quite liking the European style breakfast. He leisurely drank coffee and took a sweet roll with it.

A short flight took them to Paris. Though Jason was particularly excited to visit the City of Light, he had been thoroughly enjoying Venice, and he now felt sad to be leaving. As if echoing his mood, Augere made the comment, “One is always a little sad to leave Venice.” Jason readily agreed.

They checked into the St. Germain Hotel on St. Sulpice, which was, as it turned out, close to several of the places Jason most wanted to see on the left bank. The décor was sumptuous, with dark woods and a red, black and white color scheme, and a charming inner courtyard. It was a perfect place to stay.

It was more or less agreed they would be on their own. “I get to try out my rusty French,” Jason stated. “And since you’ve been to Paris before, I’m sure you won’t want to see and do the same things I do.”

“Except the museums, perhaps,” Augere stated, much to Jason’s surprise. “The Musee d’Orsay and l’Orangerie. You may wish to see those as well.”

Was Jason being invited to accompany him? He nodded with enthusiasm in case he was.

They parted and Jason freshened up before going out to have dinner. He had planned on a tour for the evening.

He had decided to accept that he was, after all, a tourist, and that it was quite acceptable for him to do all the touristy things. Tonight he would take a cruise on the Seine, to get a feel for the city from that vantage point and enjoy the nighttime illumination. Afterward he strolled the streets in the vicinity of the hotel.

He returned late that night, weary but contented. He stopped in the hotel bar to have a drink, and to see if perhaps Augere had had the same idea. But there was no sign of him.

The hotel provided a wonderful breakfast of strong coffee, juice, fruits, meat and cheeses, as well as flaky buttery croissants, which he enjoyed with apricot jam. He checked to see if there might be any message from Augere before he left the hotel, then he started out on his pre-planned itinerary.

He found the subway as easy to use as Boston’s. He climbed the North Tower at Notre Dame and took photos of the gargoyles and the sprawling city below. Next he visited the Ile St. Louis; Shakespeare and Company bookstore; then Montmartre and Sacre Coeur; the Champs Elysee. He wanted to visit some of the famous cafes and stopped at La Rotonde as much to soak up the atmosphere as well as enjoy the food.

He wrote out a few postcards to send home to himself, and some to Zavi and to his family. Though it was a somewhat cool and crisp day, he decided to sit outside the café to enjoy the fresh air as he sipped a glass of wine, totally absorbed in thought for the next postcard. A very attractive woman, dressed casually in jeans, a clingy sweater and bulky knit scarf, with long blonde hair, worn partly up and partly falling in tousled waves, paused suddenly at his table and then leaned into him and kissed his lips. “Your sweet expression and those kissable lips—I just could not resist,” she said in French as she gaily laughed and then continued on her way, leaving Jason pleasantly stunned.

“Yeah.” He breathed after a moment. “I am really, really liking it here.” Now he had something even more exciting and different to write on his own postcard.

He made the journey to Pere LaChaise cemetery and spent some time there. He was very disappointed no organized ghost tours were offered in Paris at this time of year, so he basically made up his own. He did some EVP sessions with his digital voice recorder, and remembered to ask questions in both French and English, as he toured the cemetery and older parts of the city. Along his walks he took lots of photos of the architecture and street scenes, trying to capture the colors and charms of Paris.

He used his French phrase book to supplement what he knew. His French tended to improve the more he forced himself to use it. He wasn’t quite fluent enough to catch every word in conversations around him, but he found it was getting easier to think and respond in French as he went along.

Exhausted but happy he arrived back at the hotel at a late hour. He lay in bed thinking about the wonderful day he had and looking forward to the next. He was so grateful for this trip, but found himself wondering why Augere would pay for him to be here, yet have no real need for him. Not that he saw room to complain. His presence may have been superfluous as far as Augere was concerned, but Jason didn’t mind. Augere must be in his element here. He probably had friends he could visit; no doubt he had his own agenda planned out.

The next day’s plans included a visit to the Louvre. And a great deal of walking. Jason tried to pace himself and he found inviting cafes with tempting pastries and a spot to rest for a while. He invariably indulged a little too much. But, he reasoned, he was on vacation in Paris, and the indulgences simply could not be helped. Everywhere, it seemed, he found an excuse to stop for something to eat: the stalls at Les Halles, a meal at Le Coupole, a drink and a snack at Deux Magots; he succumbed to Le Dalloyou, a marvelously light textured praline cake filled with almond meringue, so fragile it had to be consumed on the spot. All these good things made him remember a line—he thought perhaps attributed to Francoise Sagan: “Il y a des choses qui sont delicieuses a Paris et pas d’ailleurs.” He could not agree more: There are certain delicious things that are found only in Paris and nowhere else.

Jason held off going to the two museums Augere had mentioned, just in case he would accompany him there. The invitation had been somewhat vague but Jason remained hopeful.

In preparation for the trip he had done some research on goth related places in Paris. He had a list of several he wanted to try to find: gothic themed sites, as well as clothing and accessory shops, and some bars that served absinthe. Now that he had tasted it, he wanted to try absinthe here where it had once been quite popular. He did manage to find some of the interesting shops, but many of the goods, though exquisite, were rather expensive. Gothic items—for rich people? One of the bars he sought out had apparently closed. He wasn’t having much luck overall. He did find one bar, apparently a popular place, but it was sedate and nearly empty at the hour he chose to visit. Perhaps he was there too early in the evening.

He would almost bet Augere knew places to go. It seemed so obvious to him he and Augere shared gothic sensibilities, a taste and appreciation for those kinds of fashions and interests. Even at the beginning, when he had passed the job screening, he had been told by Genier, presumably speaking for Augere, that his style of dress was acceptable. Augere had acknowledged it, though not identifying it as gothic especially. But this was never mentioned between them. It was becoming a source of frustration for Jason: one more common interest they could share that could bring them closer, but even that door was closed.

Maybe I just need to draw him out,
Jason thought.
Speak out about his obvious gothic tendencies and see where that goes. We share other similar interests—so where is the harm in that?

It was nearly 10:00 p.m. and Jason was already feeling tired from a full day. He decided to try to find the absinthe bar closest to the hotel. It was still seven metro stops and a several block walk, according to his map, but he was determined to go. He wanted to make the most of his time in Paris.

He liked the look of the place immediately, and a favorite song was playing as he walked in: Sweet, by Switchblade Symphony. Part gothy hangout; part plush wine bar. The dominant colors here were blood red and black, with purple and grey accents here and there; red glass covered sconces on the walls were in a style reminiscent of art deco, and candlelit tables which provided soft intimate lighting were placed randomly. Plush velvet banquette seating areas lined two of the walls. Small black framed ornate mirrors and darkly romantic and grotesquely beautiful artwork, probably local talent Jason guessed, occupied scattered areas of the rest of the wall space. A lot of little decorative touches delighted the senses, including red rose shaped glass knobs on the doors to the bathroom facilities. The place had a more upscale look than any goth themed bar he had ever seen, yet it still had a welcoming coziness to it. The bar itself was a large beautifully carved dark wooden structure with graciously curved grey bar stools in front of it.

The dozen or so patrons present represented a gamut of attire and aesthetics ranging from punk and old school goth, to Victorian with a little steampunk variation as well. A young guy with a blue Mohawk and an excessively thin body covered in black leather and chains was showing off his prosthetic fangs to an admiring young girl who was apparently attempting a Siouxsie Sioux affect.

Jason walked up to the bar and took a seat on one of the grey leather upholstered stools.

“Bon soir.” The fiftyish bartender greeted him with a warm smile. He had several piercings in both ears and in one eyebrow. Dressed in all black attire, he had longish dark hair that was thinning slightly and a small neatly trimmed goatee. Jason guessed his own gothy attire and few jewelry accessories had probably made him a little more welcome here. In any case he felt at home. “Bon soir,” Jason replied with a nod.

“Suisse?…Italien?” the bartender was asking him.

“Americain.” Jason figured out the odd question, and replied. The bartender nodded.

“La question la plus important ce soir: vous etes humains ou le vampire?”

Jason gave him a blank look. The bartender smiled a little. “Humain ou vampire?” he repeated more slowly.

It took Jason a few moments to translate. He wished he’d been quicker to figure it out, and more fluent in French to come up with a better reply. All he could do was shrug and smile. He was being asked if he was Human or Vampire. He thought he might have replied “Indecis.” Undecided. But then, he thought,
It’s odd, that I would answer that way
. Almost as a general reference and not just applying that to himself.

The bartender shrugged and smiled also. “J’attendais une compagnie humaine. Je crois que j’ai vu assez de vampires pour ce soir.”
I’ve been hoping for some human company. I think I have seen enough of vampires tonight,
Jason mentally translated. He nodded with a small smile, then glanced at the small group standing and sitting not too far from the bar. He could catch a little of their conversation. English. British accents. Then he glanced back at the bartender. He assumed he had meant the present company.

“Que voulez vous boire monsieur?”

Jason was too tired to struggle with the language, much as he wanted to. “Je parle un petite peu de francais—” Jason began in halting French, giving it his best.