“Yes. Not quite the same man you see before you today, but time can be an interesting thing when it comes to change and evolution, n‘est-ce pas?”
“So you helped him.”
There was a big, boisterous cheer from behind us and I glanced over my shoulder. A man the size of a small elephant had just sunk his eight ball in the corner pocket to win the game. The loser broke his pool cue over his knee in anger.
Nice place.
I turned back to Veronique, who didn’t seem to notice anything unusual about our surroundings.
“No, of course I didn’t help him,” she said as if that was a stupid thing to suggest. “I shut the door in his face. I wanted no part of his or anyone else’s problems. Ah, I see the look of surprise on your face. Trust me, you would have done the same thing. There is no comparison to what was going on then, the sheer paranoia running rampant. There is nothing to compare it with today.”
She waited to see if I had anything further to say, and when I didn’t, she continued.
“The mob caught up to him finally. He tried to hide on his own, but it was to no avail. The amusing part of it all was that he wasn’t ill. Not yet, anyhow. I’m sure it would have been only a matter of time before he became so. The crowd captured him, and they ran him through.”
“Ran him through? What does that mean?”
“Killed him,” she said as though she were discussing no more than the weather outside.
“At least they believed him to be dead. His bloodied body was thrown upon a pile of corpses nearby, and lit on fire.”
“Then what?” I yelped.
“Sarah, dear, you must learn patience. Being what you now are, you have the luxury of time. Use it well, for sometimes it is all we have.”
I gritted my teeth. “Sorry. Please go on.”
“By this time the crowd had dissipated. They’d seen enough death to hold them, and they found no reason to stay behind and watch the fire burn away the illness they so despised. I, at this time, was feeling rather peckish. I left my house and walked amongst the dead, stopping here and there to have a small taste, most of which was quite unsavory.”
I felt a cool breeze as the door, a short distance away from our booth, opened up and a group of about ten men entered the already-crowded pub. I tried to ignore them and focus on Veronique’s story.
“I came upon the man… although he seemed more of a boy to me. At this time I was nearly fifty years of age, though I appeared much as you see me today. I believe my hair was a little longer.”
I was trying for the patience thing. I really was. My knuckles were white, gripping my knees under the table to keep from punching her in her perfect face.
“He was still alive,” she said. “But barely. His injuries great, his blood loss high. He wasn’t to be much of a meal for me. But then he opened his eyes and stared at me from the top of the burning pile of bodies. His eyes are the most extraordinary shade of gray. Especially as they flickered in the firelight.
“Suddenly I felt quite taken with him, despite the grime and sweat. I dragged him from the top of the pile and carried him to my cottage. I cleaned him up as best I could and then I sired him. It was silly for me to do such a thing after only finding his eyes attractive, but I suppose I was lonely. I desired companionship. By the next day I regretted my actions, as I was not interested in looking after a fledgling. I required someone to look after me, but it was done and I have never been one to turn my back on any responsibility that befalls me.
“He awoke the next day terribly confused. He had never heard of what I am, what he was now, and it took much explaining for him to understand. He was very scared. Hid from me much of the time.” She laughed softly. “Called me a devil. Ah, the memories.”
She took another sip of her first tequila as I downed my fourth.
“But in time he came to accept what had happened, even cherish the second gift of life.
We hid in the town for several years before moving on to Paris. There we came into contact with our first hunters—even I was ignorant to their existence until that time. Marcellus had not mentioned that we were so reviled there would be those who would wish to do us harm. We wore our immortality on our sleeve, proud of what we were, and spoke of it to many, looking for others of our kind. We were married in Paris, and I thought for a while that I could be as happy as I had been with Marcellus.” I saw her grip the edge of the table and her knuckles whiten.
“Until that one day when I saw him again. Across the River Seine. He was with another woman, a young girl of no more than sixteen, with fresh marks upon her neck. I then realized that Marcellus had left me because”—she stopped talking and took a shaky sip of her drink—“because I was too old.”
I shook my head. “But you looked exactly the same. You’d stopped aging.”
“Men,” she said simply, as if that explained everything. Actually, it did.
“Thierry and I went to an opera that night. I was trying to take my mind off seeing Marcellus again after so many years. But he was also there. He spoke with me privately, giving me compliment after compliment, attempting to ease my hurt feelings. His charm was so compelling, and perhaps I was a fool to believe him, but I forgave him everything in no more than a blink of his beautiful eyes.”
She stopped talking again as the men who had entered the club a few moments ago walked past our booth toward the pool table with drinks in hand.
“He took us with him to a secret club, and it opened up a whole new world to us. That night Marcellus was the man I remembered. Charismatic, engaging, electric. I felt more alive than I had for the ten years since I’d last seen him.”
“What about Thierry?”
“He watched me from the other side of the club. I could sense his jealousy, but what was I to do? My true love had at last returned to me. But it was not to last, for that night the club was raided by hunters. It was chaos. They came in like the plague itself, attempting to wipe out everything in their path. Marcellus fought bravely, but…” She stopped talking.
I waited.
Veronique sniffed and drew a nearby white paper napkin to the corner of her eye. “He was killed. They surrounded him and killed him with swords carved from wood. Our eyes met as he disintegrated before me. Gone forever. My true love, Marcellus.”
She sobbed into the napkin for a moment.
“What about Thierry?” I said again.
She looked up at me sharply. “If I did not know any better, I would say that the only thing you care to learn about is Thierry. Thierry’s life, Thierry’s fate. But it’s my story. My story. And my love was dead.”
She was feeling such pain for something that had happened more than six hundred years ago that my heart bled a little for her. Just a little. I decided not to provoke her, to make the pain any worse. I waited until she was ready to continue.
“When it finally registered with me that he was gone for good, rage filled my soul. Such rage, such vengeance— but they gave me strength. I, who had never fought anything in my life but perhaps a light cold, took to arms and fought back against the hunters. But I was not the only one. Others in the club fought back. It was a true moment of glory for me as I fought, shoulder to shoulder, with those I’d never met before but now considered as close to me as my own family.
“In the wee hours of the morning, when it was finally over, I looked around for Thierry. He was nowhere to be seen and I felt a sharp pain go through my heart.”
“You were stabbed?”
She looked at me. “It was a metaphorical stab of pain. Not literal, dear. I was concerned, for I thought that my young charge—not to mention, loyal and devoted husband—had met the same fate as my beloved Marcellus.”
She shook her head. “It was not for two days that I found him. At the first sign of trouble he had left, hid himself away from danger. He had not come out until he felt that it was safe.
“I did not greet him with the open arms he perhaps expected. I was angry with him. Marcellus had fought bravely and died, and he had hidden like a coward and lived.”
I let her story settle over me. This was her proof that Thierry was a big, fat coward because more than six hundred years ago he hightailed it out of a fight to the death? Didn’t seem like the Thierry I knew nowadays, a man who came off as brave and strong and impenetrable. But I was pretty sure that six hundred years could change a lot of people.
Veronique smiled at me, though her eyes were a bit red from thinking about this Marcellus dude. Yeah, the man who cheated on her and left her without a word. I could see why she was still in mourning. Sounded like a great fellow.
“You’ve lived a very interesting life.”
She nodded solemnly. “Yes, I have.”
“How long have the two of you been apart?” I asked. “At least I got the impression that you and Thierry didn’t live together anymore.”