Blood Diaries Ch. 06

PART SIX: A Night to Remember

Dean and Nathan got permission to use Ruby’s back room to change into their new suits and they joined us out by the car. We were quite a sight so see; the men in classic suits and Kittie and I in large billowing dresses with tight corsets. Kittie sat in the back with me and Nathan drove with Dean playing navigator, it would have been impossible for her to drive anyway. Kittie and I communicated telepathically and held hands as we headed out of town.

“You know what would be cute?” I asked, not waiting for an answer, “If Dean and Nathan held hands!”

“Awww, you are so right! Maybe if we think hard enough we can put our thoughts into their heads!” Kittie suggested.

“Hmmm… it’s so harebrained it just might work. I think we just have to do like in the movies and squint really hard and it will happen,” I said, trying to get a laugh out of her, but she took me seriously.

She peered at Nathan harshly, her brow furrowed and her lips pursed. I tapped her on the shoulder and demonstrated it a little better, this time with my head tilted to the side, and then we did it in unison. Nathan had glanced back at us in the rear-view mirror and gazed at us as if we were crazy. Dean gave us a quick look and then turned to Nathan curiously. Dean outstretched his hand and Nathan took hold of it! We had done it… or maybe not. I heard a metallic clank and realized that in Dean’s hand was the seventy-five cents for the toll ahead.

We burst into peals of laughter, rolling around in our seats as much as the safety belts would allow. Nathan rolled his eyes and dismissed it as just another joke he will never fully appreciate.

“What is with them? Are they always this goofy around each other?” Dean asked.

“Yeah, pretty much, but at least before they had to whisper and I could make out bits and pieces. Now I am totally clueless!” Nathan replied.

We had calmed down considerably, just the slight chuckle here and there. Kittie and I got comfortable and settled down for a little catnap. I brought up most of my skirt into my lap and made a mound for Kittie to rest her head on. She slid her seatbelt behind her back, so only the lap restraint was on and she leaned over and dozed off. I removed the circlet from her head and played with her soft hair like I had done so many times when we were in high school.

Dean proceeded to recline his seat and he offered me his hand, which I gladly accepted. His kissed it softly, suckled my fingertips and pressed my palm to his face. Kittie was fast asleep by now, dreaming of fields and pretty crowns made out of wild flowers. Dean exposed my wrist and licked it with a stiff tongue. He punctured the soft flesh with his teeth and nursed on it. I felt the heat rising in my body and he offered it to Nathan. Nathan was a bit reluctant but his animal instincts gave in and he licked the trail of blood off my arm and continued driving. I took back my wrist, which had nearly healed and I gently pressed it to Kittie’s mouth where she subconsciously began to feed.

I stuck my tongue out at Dean and remarked, “Kittie isn’t such a messy eater!”

Everyone had fed off of me and I felt an odd magnetism towards them. They each held a part of me that seemed to draw me closer. I had to pull my wrist away for fear of not having enough energy to withstand the night. Dean leaned over and kissed me and I took this opportunity to take back some of my blood. I licked and sucked on his neck like mortal lovers do. He must have known what I intended because his neck relaxed and his head lay limp on the seat, exposing that wonderful, pulsing vein. The warm, red liquor came spurting into my mouth, though I thought I had only made a tiny incision. After a few moments I felt I had taken enough and pressed my tongue firmly to the wound until it healed.

I felt like I should rest and I took Dean’s jacket and draped it over myself. He stared at me while I slept, I could feel it but I didn't mind. Kittie stirred occasionally and let out a soft groan as she readjusted her position. Dean guided Nathan to take an exit that would lead us to dinner but we still had thirty minutes of time to kill until we would be at our destination.

We pulled into the valet parking row just as the sun was going down and the automatic path lights were turning on. The restaurant was like the other French one he took me to; too fancy for me to feel comfortable no mater how I dressed or how much money I had. Dean walked up to the maitre d’ and said something in French and the man replied, “Oui, monsieur,” and he hurriedly escorted us to a table by the window.

“I didn’t know Dean spoke French!” Kittie remarked,

“Neither did I!”

Our waiter rushed out and introduced himself, using a heavy French accent, “Hello, my name is Robert and I will be serving you tonight. May I suggest the shrimp bisque; it is made with the freshest shrimp in the Northeast. And for a main course we have a seafood dish that includes steamed Maine lobster tail with butter and white wine sauce, salmon parcels and marinated mussels. All of our desserts are al a Carte but we have many tarts, pastries and a whole array of chocolates that are very popular with the ladies.”

“All of it sounds really good Robert. I love the bisque here so if you guys don’t mind I can get us all started with that,” Dean said as we all nodded, “and can we get a bottle of champagne. That should be enough for now.”

“Oui, monsieur. I will be right back,” Robert said as he left us to peruse our menus.

We each had our unique tastes; Dean liked rich sauces and hearty meats, Kittie and I loved fresh flavors mixed with other light dishes and Nathan liked the seafood that was available in the Northeast, but we all found that the shrimp bisque was a nice start to a exceptional meal. I ordered first, picking the broiled trout with a side of steamed asparagus and a salad, while Kittie ordered a chef’s salad and fettuccine alfredo. Dean and Nathan both ordered the seafood platter that Robert had described and a salad.

We talked and ate our food and the waiter checked in on us and removed the empty plates often. When we were finished with our dinner, Kittie and I sampled some of the chocolates and we all split a miniature cheesecake. Dean paid for the meal and gratuity with cash and we headed out. We still had plenty to do tonight.

Dean said that he needed to feed once more tonight and everyone but me shared those sentiments. Nathan pulled over and Kittie got out and walked to the street corner.

“I think I have turned her on to feeding off of the womanizers,” Dean remarked as he got out of the car to help.

Nathan had stayed behind with me, “Go, feed. I will be fine here,” I told him and he left me alone.

I watched the grizzly scene from the car; Kittie had stood on the corner like a prostitute and Dean acted like he was her pimp while Nathan hid in the dark, out of the beam of the streetlight. An SUV pulled up and the driver was talking to Kittie. He was thinking about taking advantage of her so I didn’t feel too bad when she bashed his face into the steering wheel. The passenger got out and attempted to beat her but he was caught by the men and drained easily while Kittie took the life of the unconscious driver. I must have had some of my mortal frame of mind because I thought it all was brutish and barbaric. I had to turn away while they set the scene to look like a car accident.

They came back, not a tear in their clothing, not a spatter of blood anywhere. The only thing that told of the murder was the smell of fresh human blood on their breath. We drove off but the smell in the car was purely intoxicating and I felt I would black out.

“You need to eat! Why do you do this to yourself; suffer like you do? You need not be strong around us,” Kittie said.

She leaned towards me and I felt the smell take over all of my senses. She presented that lovely artery of her neck to me. She had fed more than the men, not sharing her kill so I figured she meant to share it with me. My eyes rolled back as I pricked that soft skin and the fresh, red-hot blood filled my mouth instantaneously. I stopped after only a few mouthfuls, and Kittie was upset but forgiving.

We pulled up to a large metal gate with an intercom and a metallic voice greeted us, “Hello, Welcome to The Château. May I have your names please?”

“I am Nathan Boan and I have my wife Kayla Boan. Harold Hunter is here with his fiancé Dana Roeske,” Nathan chimed in.

“Hello Mr. Hunter, it has been quite a while since you have been here, fifty years by my count. We do have new rules here sir, no mortals are allowed, even if they are your guests,” the voice said, the voice of a man from long ago.

“Jean, I never brought mortals in the past, you know that! All of these people are my fiancé’s dear friends; all are blessed with The Gift,” Dean replied.

“Welcome to The Château,” Jean said as the gate opened mechanically.

We pulled into the large circular driveway and a house came into view. It was one of those houses where the structure was old but all the rooms had been gutted out a while ago and electric lighting and modern amenities were installed. We parked the car and the men escorted us out.

“You are just going to leave the car there?” I asked.

“Once we go inside a valet will come out and park it for us. Please relax, have a little fun,” Dean said, holding my hand lovingly.

The doors seemed to open by magic but I knew they were just like the automatic doors at the supermarket. The paintings on the walls rivaled those of Botticelli but vampire artists made them all, artists whose talent was only heightened by The Gift. The images were so realistic and vivid it seemed as if you could hear their conversations, or the clanging of swords, or the gentle breezes through the meadow. Each work of art was framed in a gilded frame and had a shiny gold plaque with the creator’s name and the title of his work and all of the plaques glittered down the hall under the spotlights.

I could have stared at the paintings for hours; vivid watercolors, rich oils, elaborate sketches of battle scenes. None of these paintings were grotesque, like someone would typically think a ‘savage’ creature would choose to represent. But Dean dragged me on and we walked out of the hall into a ballroom.

A bright light illuminated from the crystal chandeliers, which immediately drew your eye up to the ceiling. It was an immense room with dome ceilings that had a geometric pattern carved in it. The ceiling was painted with rich browns, creams and trimmed in gold. The music resonated from an entire orchestra that was assembled towards the back wall, but none of the players were mortal. The percussion instruments were struck with fury and power, the bows raced across their strings, the piccolo player never lost her breath despite the speed of the music. All of my senses were overtaken and I was in awe at the lavishness.

People who greeted Dean as if he were royalty, saying things like, “It’s been so long!” and “Come talk and tell us your stories,” quickly surrounded us. He smiled graciously. A man came up and gave him a hearty handshake and a warm hug.

“My good man, it is nice to see you after so long!” said the man and I recognized his voice from the intercom at the front gate.

“Hello Jean, my good friend, is Marco or Nickolaus here?”

“Yes they both are, but now they are called by Marc and Nick. We all have to keep up with the times or we might not make it!” Jean replied. “Christina is here as well,” the man said with a wink.

“Maybe I will talk to her later,” Dean said, turning red in the face.

I thought hard about this and came to the conclusion that they were romantically involved at one point. ‘What would have broken them up?’ I asked myself. I was feeling a bit jealous but dismissed it; he was in love with me now.

We walked to one of the tables and sat for a moment in which I took advantage of and drank in the sights. Everyone was in the dress of his or her time period, most of which were dressed like us. I guess the ‘baby boom’ for vampires in America was in the seventeen hundreds. The men led their partners out on the dance floor and they spun around like the dancers in music boxes. I hadn’t realized but Kittie and Nathan were already out there and Dean was offering me his hand. I snapped back to reality and allowed myself to be led around.

We danced for quite a while but never the slow, close dances that I was used to, the kind where you just hold each other and sway back and forth. The tempo picked up then slowed down and the piccolo player had a beautifully moving solo.

All of a sudden he got a tap on the shoulder and a sweet melodic voice asked, “May I have this dance?”

“Ummm, Christina, hello, ummm, if my fiancé doesn’t mind,” he stammered.

“I don’t mind,” I said but secretly I couldn’t stand it!

I walked off the floor and sat in my seat. After five minutes I got fed up and walked out into the hall with the beautiful paintings. I stood in front of an oil painting that depicted a large bonfire with people dancing around the tall flames a full moon high above. I felt as if I was there; my face warmed and ruddy because of the fire, my hair wild and my dress tattered, the embers falling in front of my eyes. I was in another world. I had not noticed that a man had walked up behind me and he tapped me on the shoulder and I jumped, completely startled.

“I’m sorry miss! I didn’t mean to scare you. I didn’t know my paintings had such an effect on people,” the man said.

I looked at the plaque and it said ‘Pagan Rites by Marco Jowet’ and I asked the man, “The same Marco who is friends with Dean?”

“Yes” he said simply.

“Do you have any other works here?” I asked

“Would you like to see them?”

“Please! I mean, I would love to,” I said, realizing I may be sounding to overbearing or anxious.

“Follow me. Jean, when he is finished, please tell Mr. Hunter that I am taking Dana to go see my paintings. I wouldn’t want him to worry,” he said as we went down the hall, past the ballroom.

I followed him to the end of the corridor where he opened a door and flicked on a switch. The room was filled to the brim with stacks of canvases; some complete and lacquered to seal them, some unfinished and one was on a large wall with his palette right next to it.

He pulled up a chair for me, “It is impolite for a lady to have to stand.”

“Thank you”

He took off his jacket and loosened his clip-on bow tie. He stood before his canvas, rolling up his sleeves and admiring his own work. He rifled through a shoebox with paint in it and squeezed it onto his palette, mixing the pigments with a brush. He began painting with lightning fast movements, none of which were ever sketched out. The rudimentary shapes were appearing; a medieval court with brightly colored jesters, knights in armor, banners flying. There was just enough room for one throne in the middle instead of the customary two but he hadn’t even begun painting that area. He seemed to work from the outside, inward.

I stood up because I had to have a closer look at this masterpiece in progress. Every brush stroke was swift but precise; nothing seemed out of place.

“You may look at my other paintings if you want,” he said, not even glancing at me, “don’t worry if any of them fall over, it happens all the time.”

“Do you have any more like the one in the hall?” I asked

“You mean the rituals? Why are you so fascinated by those things?” he asked.

“Well… I’m kind of… never mind. I just like them, they are very… spiritually awakening,” I said, trying to hint as to my reasons.

“A child of the goddess, I would never have guessed it. They are all over there, but my favorites are in my chamber. I can show them to you if you wish,” he replied.

“I would love that but not if I am going to be interfering with your work.”

“I am not one of those painters who loses inspiration so easily, it would be my pleasure,” he told me.

We walked out of the room and across the hall. It was like a monk’s cell. There was a bed, a dresser, a small window and a fireplace about the size of a briefcase. He had no electricity in this room but I think he liked it this way. He struck a match and lit a candle sconce on the wall and then lit a row of candles on his dresser. His dresser was an altar that was beautifully decorated with fresh and dried flowers, a sickle knife and a small cauldron.

“A druid,” I said and he nodded.

He started a fire and fed it with small twigs and bits of paper until the larger logs caught fire. He went to his altar and took some dry herbs and tossed them into the fire and the smell of sage filled the air in the small room.

“I have no chairs in this room because there is simply not enough space for them. But please, take a seat on my bed if you will.”

The room was warm and cozy and he pulled some of his paintings off the wall and sat them on the bed next to me. The first was a druid ceremony at Yule where they cut down the mistletoe with a sickle knife. The next was funeral rites; a woman was silhouetted in a pyre as a man wept, consoled by his friends while others danced to celebrate her life. And then I was presented with a picture of a hand fasting service where the same friends and merry-makers surrounded the same man and woman from the funeral pyre. I was struck hard by what I next realized, the same man was sitting next to me on the bed.

Marco had a tear in his eye and I could tell he was recalling every detail from both of those days. I felt I had to say something but I didn’t know what so I just said the first thing that came to me.

“She was very pretty and was lucky to have a man of such talent.”

“She was the love of my life, my mortal life. I was only given this,” he said as he pointed to himself, “after she died.”

“Would you like to talk about it?” I asked, hoping not to dredge up unpleasant memories.

“No one has ever asked me that. Where would I start?” he said, thinking on my proposition.

“Well you can start from the beginning, that’s where most stories start!” I chuckled

There was a loud knock at the door and Dean came in, he was furious.

“Marco, I wish to take my wife now!” he bellowed.

“First, she is only your fiancé. Second, you left her to sit alone while you danced with Christina for,” he looked at his watch, “two hours! I found her in the hall, admiring my picture and I invited her here. I told Jean where she would be, so when… I mean if you ever came looking for her you could find her.”

“Don’t insult me like that! I would have come for her!” Dean replied with a scathing tongue.

I couldn’t stand it, “You are supposed to be friends! I’m leaving! Marco, it was nice meeting you, I will be back to hear your story. Dean, how dare you! I can’t believe you would over react like this!” I was fuming and I stormed out of the room.

I could hear them fighting as I went down the hall and finally I heard the door slam and Dean came after me but I was already gone, outside into the night. No one saw me leave so I had time to be alone. The moon shone down on me and cast shadows all over the ground. I flopped down on the ground, my skirt flying outward in a perfect circle on the ground. He had spent two hours with Christina, probably never even thinking once about me. I was so angry with him that I balled up my fists and made myself bleed again. I had to get up, I felt like running, running away from everything.

I stopped in a grove, with no idea where I was. I heard footsteps behind me and when they got close enough I spun around and grabbed them by the throat, hurling them to the ground. It was Marco. My eyes became big and I apologized profusely, helping him up.

He sputtered and managed to say, “I’m sorry I frightened you, again. I knew you would come here, to the woods, to the place of your ancestors.”