The Lost Girl of Avignon

And she smiled - pleased, it seemed, to see me.

"Good morning, Miss Devereux," she said.

"Hello, Miss Nameless," I answered as I carefully minimised my time in the sun. "Here is the book. I beg pardon, I took it home last night to do some research for myself. Is there anything you need? Anything? No?"

She reached out and took the book from me. "No, thank you, Miss..."

"What is your name?"

"Um... I'm Sophie... um... Miss..."

"Miss Devereux, Sophie. But if I'm going to be helping you that will get... annoying. Since this is... extracurricular research, you can call me Annemarie if you would like."

"Oh I could never!" she protested.

I grinned. "So polite; so English. Oh how tragic. Alors... if you change your mind, you know where to find me. I will be... below," I added.

I turned and sauntered off, turning once to glance back and accidentally catching her watching me; something that pleased me a great deal.

She flushed, squeaked and looked hurriedly away.

She was lovely.

Oh well. Another angel to feature in my silly, amorous dreams.

I sighed.

Administration awaited me.

I kicked off my bright red sneakers, perched my glasses on my nose and began to dig through the, apparently, hundreds of emails that people had felt the compulsive need to dispatch my way overnight.

Book loans.

Book returns.

Inter-department feuds.

Requests for new subscriptions.

Amusing, ungrammatical demands from hierarchy-drunk Professors who expected that I would drop everything else to service their requests as a priority...

I sighed again.

Next time I reinvented myself I'd be an artist, I thought. Or I could be a book dealer again. Easy hours amongst the things I loved...

It wasn't like I needed the money, after all. I had more than enough wealth in my vault in Threadneedle street in distant London.

I hunched forward, glaring at the screen, stabbing out polite but exsanguinatory responses.

Someone coughed.

I glanced upwards, then straightened self-consciously.

She stood there; a pair silver and blue headphones was draped around her neck - the dirty cable cut down over the tight curves of her sky-blue shirt to the silhouette-ruining bulge of a phone in her faded khaki trouser pocket.

She looked almost... embarrassed, shuffling gently from side to side.

And perfect, a bit of me drooled.

"Miss Devereux..."

"Yes, Sophie?"

"Um... could... could I beg some help? If... if you have time, that is?"

"Certainly I have time for you."

Sarah snorted from her desk.

I ignored my assistant's knowing smirk and stood, letting out a soft sound of discomfort as my back complained.

"Are you okay?" Sophie asked, concerned.

"Oh, yes, fine, just... I have a bad back and I was sitting... stupidly."

"Don't be sympathetic; she doesn't listen to my nagging," Sarah interjected.

"Oh silence, you," I said, waving my hand dismissively at my friend.

Sophie stared at the two of us, then blinked.

"Um... your shoes..." she began.

"No, no, I like being like this. How can I help you, Sophie?"

"Was Tarsinian a reliable source?" she said.

"More than others of the time."

"It's just that I've done a little bit of cross-referencing and I'm... not convinced."

"You're looking into the history of the Romani, yes?"

"Um... how did you know?"

"Nomadic tribes of that period and area... well, they are the most obvious. They are also the ones with the most complete historical record - many of them were literate and wrote things down. Oh... pardon. I'm a bit of a history nerd, it's my... party trick, is that the right phrase?. I go on and on... anyway. What are you struggling with?"

"He talks about... look, I know that back then they believed that the bogeyman was behind every bush, but..."

"Yes?"

"He talks about... Vampiri."

"Vampires," I said, flatly, a chill stealing over me.

"Woooooo," trembled Sarah, playing the clown as always. I gave her a look.

"Uh huh. He writes about them, in a way that makes it clear that both he and the Romani believed they existed. That... it makes me question his credibility."

"He is regarded as fairly objective, if that helps. He doesn't seem to invent things like others I could name."

Sophie pulled a face, clearly unconvinced.

"Why not just continue - consider his evidence circumstantial and look for alternate sources?"

"I don't know where else to look," she huffed. "That's why..."

"Oh. Of course. Well... let us go see what we may find, shall we? Sarah, chérie - are you okay holding the fort?"

"Yeah, absolutely no problem," my assistant replied with a delighted and knowing grin.

I ignored her, and turned, and made my way to the stairs, not bothering to check if Sophie was following me.

I could clearly hear the distracting whisper of each breath she took as she trailed me.

Soon enough I'd need to drink something, but I'd be okay for a while.

So I tried to ignore the sound of her and the scent of her as I led her deep into row three.

I worked even harder to ignore the warmth of her as I accidentally brushed up on her while squeezing past with a book.

It didn't help that I was almost certain I caught her watching my... me... more than once.

She had a face like an angel and a blush like a newly-wed bride.

She smelled like she'd descended from Paradise.

Her voice made my heart shiver.

Her fingers were cool and smooth as I handed her treatise after treatise.

And I stared at the lovely line of her neck as I followed her back to the table she'd picked to work at.

I kept my tone level and light when almost all I could think about was how much I wanted to push her up against one of my shelves of references and... have her.

So, instead, we unpacked the books and began the process of biblio-archaeology that kept us busy for the next few hours as we tracked down anything that might have been even remotely related to to her... to our quest.

It was... unsatisfying compared to what I would far rather be doing.

☽●☾

I locked the library door and muttered as I clutched at my right shoulder. Sophie had departed in the late afternoon and I'd spent the rest of the day jotting down additional trails before I'd packed away books.

I am cursed with a very good memory, so it's seldom I read or encounter something without retaining enough to be able to find it again - especially in my Library.

So that meant I'd had had a lot of notes to jot down.

And now my back throbbed.

I squinted at the pink and violet of evening. It was nice to close up earlier on Wednesdays and get a little bit of time back for myself - a few precious, free moments when the world was still awake.

I shouldered my bag, grumbled to myself, and set off.

It wasn't far to go; maybe a mile as the crow flies. But I was limping by the time I got back to Tenebrae Lane.

I stared at the new spa or salon or whatever it was for a moment or two, then crossed the road and stepped through the polite automatic door.

A pretty blonde girl in a kimono smiled up at me from behind the organic birch reception desk.

"Hello, and welcome to Sakura," she said, in a wildly-out-of-place West-country accent. "Do you have an appointment?"

"Good evening. No. I'm... I have no appointment. My back is very sore, so I was hoping that you do massage therapy and that there is perhaps someone free..."

She smiled. "Let me see... hmm... ah. Yes. You're in luck, we had a cancellation. Take a seat for a min, please, I'll let our therapist know. Just a sec."

"Oh thank the graces," I whispered.

I sunk down gratefully onto one of the elegant little waiting chairs and relaxed against the backrest with a sigh of relief.

Very much a Western cinema-goer's view of Eastern culture, I thought to myself, as I cast a sceptical eye over the decor.

I reached for my flask and took a quick sip.

The red edges around things faded slightly, and the throbbing in my back decreased a notch or two.

A door opened and soft footsteps approached.

I screwed the lid back on my thermos and tucked it away.

And then paused, nonplussed, as Sophie rounded the corner.

"Oh," I said.

She stopped abruptly. One of her feet shifted, her sensible black shoe squeaked on the laminate floor.

"Oh," she echoed.

"This is the lady," the girl at the desk said. "A walk-in. You alright to take her, Soph?"

"Um. Sure. Of course. Yes. Sign her in."

"How long for?" the blonde asked as she scribbled.

"An hour for Miss Devereux, I reckon. Um... this way please," Sophie said, hiding her obvious embarrassment behind a mask of professionalism.

And, strangely rattled, I followed her, trying very hard to ignore the lovely lines of her body under her form-hugging grey tunic.

She smelled so good.

I swallowed, fought the unwanted and invasive thoughts down and away as she ushered me into softly-lit treatment room and closed the door behind me.

"So this is awkward," I said, to break the ice.

She glanced at me. "Yeah. Very. Um... okay. Right... so... let me guess, your back?"

"Yes. It is... bad."

"Yes, well, for starters, put your bag down," she said. "And for the love of God, get yourself something with two padded straps."

"I have one. I just love this one," I said.

"It's not helping at all."

"I know, I know," I admitted, watching as she opened a door and pulled a selection of containers out of a wall-to-ceiling cabinet.

Then she stopped, and took a breath before she turned to face me.

"Listen. I won't let this get... weird... if you don't," she said. "I'm... I'm quite good at this. I can help, but... I still need your help with my stuff, and I'm..."

"It will not interfere," I said, hurriedly. "I'm just a... client. Your home, your rules. Yes?"

"Okay then. Um. Take off your shirt so long. I'll get the table set up."

I hesitantly undid my buttons and stripped, carefully folding the fabric along the seams as always and setting it down on a vacant chair.

I wouldn't usually feel the cold, but something raised goosebumps on my arms; I rubbed at them.

And then I shivered; she noticed and gave me a sympathetic smile.

"Sorry. I'll turn up the heat a bit," she said. "It will take a moment... Um. Take off your bra and lie down."

"Oh..."

"I have a robe if you'd like..."

"No... it's okay..." I answered, mastering myself.

It was years since I'd been even partially unclothed with someone else of any gender.

I slowly unclasped my brassiere, folded one cup into the other, and the straps into the cup, and carefully set down it down - centred on my shirt in the manner that bothered me least.

I caught myself hunching my shoulders, conscious and... almost fearful of her gaze.

I knew my nipples were erect, and, worse, that I was flushing like a maiden.

She, the gentle creature, kept her stunning eyes carefully on mine.

I couldn't tell whether I was grateful or... aggrieved.

"Please. Lie down," she said, indicating the dark green fabric that draped the adjustable massage table.

I slunk to it and lowered myself onto the surface, the sheer cloth brushing somewhat pleasantly along my pale, cool skin.

I let out a shivery little breath and tried to ignore my body's reaction to... well, mostly to her proximity to my déshabillé.

"Are you okay, Miss Devereux?"

"Please. Just... Annemarie. Please," I softly repeated.

I felt her pause and felt the soft puff of air she exhaled.

"Are you okay... Annemarie?"

Her intonation wasn't French, certainly nowhere near the French of my birth, but... very few people called me by my name, and fewer still made any effort to try to pronounce it correctly.

"Oui," I whispered, profoundly touched by her attempt.

I squeezed my eyes closed and fought down the sudden shudder of bitter homesickness. I gulped once, then found my calm again.

"Where does it hurt?"

Her voice was gentle and brimming with sympathy. She could obviously see how much she'd affected me.

Everywhere, the broken parts of me wanted to cry out.

But instead, I took a soft, slow breath and answered with the simplest and safest answer.

"My right shoulder is the worst."

"Okay. First I'm going to... align you. May I touch you, Annemarie?"

"Oui... er... yes. Yes."

"Okay. Um... let's begin. Here. Take your left hand and reach up, like you're stretching."

I stretched out along the table, wincing as the skin of my breast caught once or twice.

"Now with your right arm. It will probably hurt a bit, I'm sorry. Shall I help?"

"Please," I breathed.

I let out a soft whimper of protest as she slowly applied pressure and helped me stretch my back.

"Okay. Now... just... a minute..."

And she folded up two pads from below that caught and supported my wrists and elbows. The pain in my right shoulder eased as the weight was taken off it.

I groaned in relief.

"Now your hips and spine," she murmured. "Point your toes and try to extend yourself. Like a cat stretching..."

"Never... been called a cat before," I mumbled.

She laughed softly. "It's a simile. To describe..."

"I know what a simile is."

"Uh huh. I'm sure you do. Point your toes, please."

I grimaced and did as she demanded.

"Now... that's good. Now relax. Where in your shoulder, Annemarie?"

"It is obvious," I said, tone carefully neutral.

Her fingers were warm on my skin; she forgot herself a moment as she traced the extended, pale line of the ancient wound.

"This is... quite a scar," she said, trying to be casual. "Is this why you get so sore?"

"Yes."

I heard her take a slow breath; I knew she was going to ask about it. It would take a blind man to miss it...

I got ahead of it with a practised version of the truth.

"There was a fire. A roof beam fell on me."

Her fingers twitched.

"Oh my God."

I stared at the dim corner of the room, remembering that which I'd gladly forget.

"There were... many broken bones. Most healed properly; one or two... did not."

Her fingers explored, probed. I took a shallow breath and squirmed as she found the worst offender.

"Ah," she said. "I feel it. Annemarie... I can help, but it's going to be really unpleasant for you. No... actually, this is going to hurt like hell. I'm sorry. Perhaps we should rather..."

"Do what you can, please." I took a deep breath and gritted my teeth. "I do not mind pain. I can take it."

"Are you sure?"

She sounded tentative.

"Yes," I whispered. "Pain and I are old friends."

"Okay. I'm sorry... in advance."

My threshold was high, especially now. Yet she still managed to push me deeply into discomfort that verged on nausea. I was panting, shaking and whimpering by the time our hour was up, and she'd flung aside her tunic top because she was sweating too much to bear its claustrophobic confines.

Her hands were almost scalding hot on my skin; her face was pale and she looked and sounded exhausted.

But my back pain had eased to barely-there, and I lay there, slowly collecting myself as she stretched the ache in her forearms and then ran her hands over her own shoulders, groaning.

"Thank goodness you're the last one," she breathed, matter of fact. "Oh God. I'm shattered. I couldn't possibly do another client now."

She rolled her shoulders and groaned again. "There's extensive wreckage in there, Annemarie. I'm frankly surprised you have any motion in your back at all."

"I beg pardon..." I began.

"No! Don't be silly; you needed the help; I'm... glad I was able to help you. I'll be sore tomorrow though. Actually... make that probably for a while."

"So will I," I groaned.

I peeled my breasts and stomach off the soaked fabric cover and tried not to stare at the lean wiry muscles of her sweat-beaded arms as she towelled away her sweat.

"You're ice cold; you need a hot shower, or hot bath if you have one, as hot as you can bear it," she said.

I sighed softly as she hid the lovely curve of her bra under the camouflage of a maroon vest.

"Mandy will be gone; I'll let you out and lock up," she murmured.

She ran her fingers through her hair and risked a smile for me.

I looked down and away, flushing. I felt strangely shy in front of her. So I slipped my arms into my shirt and buttoned it up; then stuffed my bra into my bag.

I followed her to the front desk, paid her for her time insisted on extra, then stepped out into the cool night air, aching in a multitude of new ways.

"Tomorrow, then, at the Library?" I said, offhanded, guarding us both from my stupid nature.

"Tomorrow, then," she agreed. "Good night... Annemarie. Change that bag or I'm going to shout at you again."

"I will. Adieu."

The door hissed closed.

I stared up at the high wispy clouds, silver in the moonlight.

I groaned in soft, disappointed frustration.

Then I walked the thirty yards to my building, climbed the stairs to my door, and let my soft, velvet-draped sanctuary welcome me home.

Then my ritual: Beetroot, additives, sterile jar.

Steak tartare and Blutwurst for the calories, and wine for the few remaining remnants of my soul.

Then a deep, hot bath - scalding hot, the heat seeping deep into my body, leaving me pink and refreshed.

But, twisting and twining throughout everything, the distracting phantasm of Sophie's gorgeous, wiry body and the memory of the almost searing warmth of her touch.

She disturbed me. Her presence in my world upset me in some ways.

She was a distraction.

I knew I was already addicted to her.

She was beautiful.

She was funny.

She was... gentle.

Everything I wanted; everything I lacked, everything I dreamed of...

And so, for the first time in forever, I lay in bed and slowly touched myself - spreading myself, teasing a finger in and out of myself, fantasising that I was entwined with her, kissing her, touching her as I slowly teased myself to an intense, wet, rolling orgasm.

And then, an hour of lonely, ashamed wakefulness before, finally, sleep came to me.

My dreams were dark and vivid; full of blood and the unwanted taste of omens.

And I woke to a cold Thursday with a terrible premonition of doom.

☽●☾

"See you tomorrow," Sarah said as she sauntered past us on another of her blatantly obvious "Keeping an eye on Annemarie" circuits.

"Are you done for the day?" I said, straightening with a groan.

"Yeah. It's three, it's knock-off time for me."

"Oh. Of course. Put any remaining stuff on my desk, I owe you for the past few days that I have been... distracted."

Sophie laughed from the far side of the table.

"Distracted is not the word. You're... intense. I've never seen anyone as tenacious as you when it comes to tracking this stuff down..."

"Intensely distracted," said Sarah. She had a mischievous slant to her grin.

She spun and gave me a wink, mouthing a quiet "wow," and giving me a surreptitious thumbs up.

I shot a horrified glance at Sophie; she hadn't seen it, thank God.

I shooed Sarah off with a bright pink flush and an irritated flap of my hands.

"Enjoy the boy," I called after her; she turned and blew me a kiss.

"Boy?" said Sophie.

"Man," I corrected myself. "She is almost certainly out for dinner and sex tonight."

Then I remembered who I was talking to.

"Merde. Sorry," I said, flushing pinker.

But Sophie was smiling.

"Lucky Sarah," she said, softly. She shot me a furtive glance.

"Yes," I admitted, red faced and distracted. "Lucky Sarah. So... right. Anyway... where were we?"

And that was the start of the next two hours of tracery, digging into dusty stacks and tracking down the most frivolous, faint references we could find.

But at last it was too much. I sighed and pushed the books away.