The Stirrings of a Cold Heart Ch. 02

London England, 1808

Time is stagnant and meaningless to the undead passing through it. If it has any significance at all it's because fashions need to be updated and attention should be paid to behavior and trends so as not to stand out. Leaders change, wars are won and lost, beliefs and morals seem to be transitory and of course children grow up, even fairy queens in back alleys. Games of fantasy and daydreams eventually fade into the more complex pursuits of daily living. As it was, vampires carry so little imagination with them that such moments are easily forgotten. The vampire did keep his word and see that she was looked after, but after nearly twenty years the little girl with her red braids was nearly forgotten except for her small baby blanket shawl. 'Le Coeur Noir' still took that child's favor with him wherever he went, carefully preserved among his things. He had also learned to take on the name of Erik Ambrose. Simple and timeless, it defied all fads and could move with him through centuries and be used in matters of business as well as those of a personal nature. It also had the happy ability to resist changes in location, at least for the most part. Traveling of course is a necessary constant among the race of nosferatu and through the ages he had seen more places than most thought imaginable, repeatedly for matters of his 'business'. It was this very trade that brought him back to London for a much longer stay. One thing never changed, there would always be dark corners of humanity willing to pay any price for death.

His pale hand pulled back the thick crimson velvet drapes from his upstairs bedroom window. The grey, cloudy day had faded into a cloudy night and this new owner of the imposing mansion known as Osrik House had just awakened for the night. It had been warmer the last time he was in this town, mused Erik Ambrose. His last visit to London had only lasted a couple of days while he tracked a French nobleman trying to escape the guillotine. He was paid very well for this particular service. He was always paid well for his services. This time he planned a leisurely stay of several months and had no wish for a hotel or the free lodgings of an underground crypt. He enjoyed having complete privacy and Osrik House with its four stories, lands, and fine gardens afforded him that along with great comfort. Although it was December and the gardens were covered with a layer of snow, he could still make out the shapes of the hedges and walkways. After tucking in his shirt he opened the window and looked out over the snowy countryside and felt the cold wind on his equally icy skin. Although Erik had come to terms with being a vampire long ago, there were brief instances when he wished for a moment in the daylight. He imagined the snow must sparkle when the sun reflects on it. Ah well, the foolish dreamer always wishes for the impossible, he thought with a laugh.

Closing the window he turned back to his bed and slipped on his waist coat then double breasted frock coat. In his mortal days he had lived in Greece and dressed in a light chiton with a himation wrapped around his shoulders. A very light and airy way to dress, but over the centuries he had learned to change with the times and now wore layers of clothing that at times felt stifling. As an act of personal rebellion he made sure there was never a stitch of clothing on his body when he slept during the day. From his dressing table he picked up a ring that had been made from an ancient Greek coin bearing the image of the three-headed dog Cerberus, the symbol of Hades. It reminded him of his early days as a vampire.

Let go of your mortality! Succumb to the joys or your vampire nature! You own eternity, do with it as you please. Savor your victims. Kill without guilt . . . without mercy! Those had been the lessons that his master and creator, Namtar, had preached for a year before disappearing as mysteriously as he had appeared. You won in the end, but you knew that, didn't you, The vampire mused to himself as he slid the silver ring on his little finger. For a moment he could picture a smile on his master's face.

The snow had not hindered people from getting out. Stores and street vendors were closing up for the day, but the upper class was out and making their way to important social gatherings. Police Bobbies were patrolling the streets and putting on a grand show of law and order. The lower classes were out too. The windows of pubs were bright and men and women inside were laughing and drinking. Prostitutes were making themselves available hoping for enough money to buy a nights lodging or a glass of gin, whichever was valued most. Thieves hid in the shadows looking for an opening to grab a wallet or get something valuable that they could pawn for cash. Pick pockets tried to blend in so the loss of a gold watch or pocketbook would not be noticed. Shivering in one of the alleys was a young prostitute. She couldn't have been more than 18 but her face already showed the marks of a hard life. Following her into the shadows of the alley the vampire satisfied his hunger then left her body huddled against the wall.

London's Royal Opera House stood majestically in Covent Garden with its columns, statues and beautiful white façade. Erik had purchased a ticket for a box that placed him just on the other side of the stage's apron and directly over the action. He had been handed a playbill, but other than to see the name of the opera he had not looked at it again. 'Die Zauberflote' or 'The Magic flute' was an opera composed in two acts by Mozart the year of his death. Popular since its first premier in Vienna, it had by no means lost its appeal since the auditorium was full to capacity. In the box next to his, Erik noticed an older woman dressed in her best evening finery seated next to a young man who had an animated face that was almost too pretty to be male. The two fussed at each other over seat positions, who was blocking whose view among other small things. Clearly it was a mother and son out for an evening's amusement. Before he could listen further to their conversation the lights went down and the overture began.

The Magic Flute began with its hero Tamino straying into the Queen of the Night's realm pursued by a snake where he was rescued by three veiled maidens. Papageno, a bird man, entered and the three veiled maidens put a padlock on his mouth for telling lies. The next scene was at the villain, Sarastro's palace where the audience was introduced to the Queen of the Night's daughter Pamina. Erik's eyes fell upon a vision of loveliness despite the overdone make-up and long blond wig.

Erik glanced at the box next to his and saw the pretty young man sitting forward in his seat, gloved hands gripping the armrests. His features alight with wonder.

"What a vision." The young man in the next box stated. Erik, as he sat in the shadows couldn't agree more. The woman on stage was young, probably in her middle to early twenties. Her features bore an innocent look that bespoke her youth and even the layers of make-up couldn't hide it. Oh, the beauty of her features was as ashes when she opened her mouth to sing. Even Erik in all his affected boredom had to take notice. The woman on stage sang as with a company of angels. Teaching and schooling were evident in her well-practiced notes, but the rich tone and impassioned voice she gave to her character, Pamina, were all her own. She became the character on stage.

The pretty young man was entranced. Erik found himself watching the opera and the young man's face in turn. Young and inexperienced at life, the youth sitting next to his mother had not yet learned how to school his emotions. The vampire found it an amusing contrast to himself who after centuries wore only a frozen mask that betrayed nothing. He really couldn't blame the young man for being so enamored by her, but he could also see that his mother was hardly amused.

"Nicolas." His mother said, trying to halt her son's passions before they had time to grow. "Are you going to try and meet this woman after the performance?"

"Are you going to try and stop me, mother?" He asked, a bit annoyed.

"I think I might want to. You are a Lord and as such you are expected, nay required to marry within your station. She is no more than a pretty bauble that can only be a momentary amusement or distraction." The woman leaned back in her seat with a sigh and regarded her wayward child with a raised eyebrow. The young Lord looked at his mother and sighed as well.

'Le Coeur Noir' wondered how many times the two had argued this same argument. He thought about the pretty young soprano and began to think that there was something familiar about her, although he couldn't place it. He looked for his playbill hoping the name could jar something in his vast memory but it was nowhere to be found. He dismissed the idea as the lights came up and the curtain went down ending act one. The pretty young man shot a glance at his mother then quickly disappeared stating that he needed some air. His mother only set her jaw, knowing that it was hardly the truth.

The vampire shook his head at the young man's romantic ideals. Such foolish thoughts. Humanity in all its forms was something that he had long-since left behind. Yet there was a time . . . so very long ago . . . when he too had been young, naïve and dared to love a woman not unlike that beauty down there. He shrugged off the feeling and turned his attention to a well-dressed man sitting down in his box. Erik barely looked at him as the gentleman carefully slid a leather satchel towards his chair. The vampire looked inside and noted the collection of fine jewelry inside easily valued into the millions. Carefully he took one of the necklaces out and examined it. The diamonds were certainly brilliant and the weight seemed correct.

"If my jeweler discovers even a single forgery, it will be the last breath you take." He warned.

"Yes, yes, I know." The man agreed. "But do you have it?" Erik reached into his waistcoat and took out a small vial of liquid.

"If it is madness you wish for your already ailing king then this will do it." He handed it to him. "A ship will be docking in the next few days with more. I will send word to you by way of an advertisement on the English Chronicle when it arrives and how it will meet."

"Of course, of course." The man sipped in the vial into his pocket then quickly bowed out of the box, leaving Le Coeur Noir to turn his attention to the crowd below.

Mortals never ceased to amaze him. Nightly he walked in their circles, talked with them, pretended to be like them. All the while, he would laugh internally at their foolish dreams. The dreams of every age were the same. Dreams of power, the search for the fountain of youth and the ultimate truth were among his favorites. He knew from experience that the only people who could wield power were the ones that did not deserve the honor. There was a fountain of youth, but it sprung from the lifeblood of thousands of mortals that sought it too hard. The ultimate truth was that there was no ultimate truth, thought 'The Dark Heart'. It was impossible not to be cynical about the world. He had seen over 2000 years of it, and was rarely impressed by anything mortals did. It came with the territory of immortality, or so it would seem.

The vampire's ruminations were interrupted by the sudden return of the pretty young man to his box. His youthful face was animated with excitement.

"I was not able to see her but I know she is like sunlight and fire and flowers in springtime." The young Lord raved. His mother held up a hand to quell her son's impassioned speech.

"Stop talking like a fool. I will agree that she does sing pretty and she has a fair face, but she is not of our class. Never forget that. Lady Dotson has a very pretty daughter with a very sizable dowry." The young man started to make an objection, but his mother shot him a look that warned him to put such thoughts out of his head. "Your time would be better spent courting her."

The immortal shook his head at the two in the box next to him then looked down once more as the lights went down and the curtain up. His eyes once more fell upon the lovely soprano and he studied the lines of her face and her expression. Yes there was something strangely familiar about her. He closed his eyes and listened to her voice as she began to sing about her broken heart in aria Ach, ich fuhl's, es ist verschwunden.

Ah, I feel it, it has disappeared

Forever gone love's happiness!

Never more will come the hour of bliss

Back to my heart!

See, Tamino, these tears,

Flowing, beloved, for you alone!

If you don't feel the longing of love

Then there will be peace in death!

The last act was performed flawlessly and the entire company was rewarded with a standing ovation. The audience shouted its bravos and roses were handed to the young soprano. Silently he waited until everyone was gone then did a graceful leap to the stage with satchel in hand and darted into the shadows. As a man walked by carrying roses he took one then crept along the walls out of view before vanishing into smoke and reappearing on the catwalk above. He moved along in the darkness till he saw the dressing rooms a short way off.

A handsome man with a waxed mustache carrying flowers started towards the dressing rooms only to be intercepted by one of the performers. Erik recognized the performer as the tenor who played the lead part of Tamino.

"Excuse me, could you tell me which dressing room is Miss Cathal's?" The man with the mustache asked.

"It's the first one; may I enquire as to your business with her?"

"Personal. I was hoping she would dine with me and accept this bouquet." He smiled, but the Tenor glared at him.

"I can save you some effort. Aidan Cathal is my fiancé and the answer is no." The tenor answered. The man apologized then silently departed.

Aidan Cathal, thought the vampire. Why did he know that name? It was definitely familiar to him. Her door opened and Erik began to study her features intently. Her real hair was a beautiful dark auburn that was filled with curls and though she had it bound up, soft curls were framing her face. Her face was beautiful without all the stage make-up. Her eyes were amethyst and large. She smiled as the tenor congratulated her on her performance and it triggered a memory in Erik.

He suddenly recalled a small elfin like girl with auburn braids and large eyes. Yes, Aidan Cathal, he thought again. It was the fairy queen whose jewelry had been made of string and had been gracious enough to knight him. How could he have forgotten her? She was definitely not a child now. She was an exquisite young woman, curved and desirable. He looked again at the tenor who had stated she was engaged to him. This time he looked him over very carefully and realized it was Emile Claudel, the son of a former Parisian opera singer Patrice Claudel. He was familiar with her as well and the skeletons in her closet she wanted to keep hidden. Long ago he had hired the French woman to take Aidan in as her ward and raise her. This Emile would have been a young man at the time, and in truth, Erik was not as familiar with him. The tenor smiled and told Aidan he would be back with her coat then left her alone. In silence he watched her as she put on her gloves.

Would you like to be a knight? He could still hear her sweet child voice. Looking down at her, he noticed her start to glance about apprehensively. Suddenly she looked up and their eyes locked.

"Hello!" She called out. "What are you doing up there? Who are you?" He didn't answer and instead dropped the rose he had taken at her feet. When she bent to pick it up, he vanished to smoke. She breathed in the flower fragrance and then looked back up at where he had been. "Thank . . ." she started to say, but saw only the empty catwalk.

"The carriage is ready." Emile said, returning and hustling her into her coat. "Oh, I see you went back for one of your roses."

"There was someone up there." She pointed to the catwalk, but Emile never looked up.

"There is no one up there; you only imagined you saw someone. Come on Aidan the driver is waiting. Though Emile pulled her to the exit she never took her eyes off the catwalk till it was completely out of sight.

Erik rematerialized outside the opera house and quietly walked back to Osrik's house. He placed the satchel of jewelry in his safe then sat down before the fireplace in his drawing room. Looking at the flames he couldn't help musing over his little fairy queen. She had grown into a fine accomplished young woman. Patrice had done well. Strange how she had seemed to know he was there. He wished he could talk with her for a moment, but knew that it would be better if he did not. Well, there was no reason he couldn't take in another performance tomorrow night, he mused.

Before he lay down for the day he met with his housekeeper and gave her a curious list of instructions. She was to give a copy of a letter to six carefully chosen men. These men had many contacts and would easily be able to find out everything on Emile Claudel. At the time when he had hired Patrice to raise the girl, he had also made provision for a dowry. He wanted to be sure that the little girl would be able to marry anyone of her choosing. He had seen nothing in their interaction that would lead him to believe there was any attachment, but he was hardly a good judge of romance. The vampire simply wanted to be sure that the tenor was an honorable man and worthy of his ward before sanctioning such a union.

As he closed his eyes he saw her once more looking up at him from below the catwalks.

"Would you like to be a knight?" The child had asked.

"I am still your knight." He said as he drifted into a deathlike slumber.