Futile Flame (16 page)

At first I found it sad that no one cared, but it was also freeing. This was a world that required no explanation. A lovely, welcoming world. To be different was to be one of them. I stayed there for two years exploring and tasting the underworld of Rome. It was never tiresome. I lost my ladylike manners as I mimicked my peers.

‘Juliet!’ yelled Margo from the doorway of The Shuttered Door, one of the more popular taverns. ‘Watch out for the Cap’n o’ the Celestine, he likes to rough his girls up and I heard he was looking for you earlier. He’s been through all of us at some time or other. He messed up Justina so bad she hasn’t worked for a month.’

Anger flared in my chest. I recalled the brutality of my brother. The thought of little Justina being abused by some brute made my stomach churn. Although I hadn’t seen her around, it was vexing to realise she had been injured and couldn’t work.

‘Don’t worry, lovey,’ I replied. ‘I know just how to handle his sort.’

The Captain found me in the tavern. Once we were alone he received a beating he’d never forget and would never admit was delivered by a woman. I suspect he told his crew he was set upon by thugs. Five of them at least. I left him alive, barely.

‘Stay away from the whores of Fumicino,’ I hissed in his ear. ‘And stay your fists in future unless you want me to finish this. Believe me, I’ll know if you hurt another woman.’

He’d stared in swollen-eyed horror at my lengthened fangs. His mind screamed ‘demon’ but he was too afraid to speak. He emptied his bowels into his breeches. Just for show, I laughed manically to ensure his view of an avenging monster was forever burnt into what passed for his brain. I also made sure that Justina received a financial boost from a mysterious benefactor. I knew she had five children and struggled to feed them while trying to make the best living she could. With money to feed and clothe herself, she soon recovered and was back in the docks working alongside Margo and the others again.

It was easy to believe I was one of them, that I finally belonged somewhere. Now I was both visible and invisible; hidden in the most conspicuous world. This was a place that the wealthy knew existed, the corrupt used and enjoyed, and the pious chose to ignore.

The most difficult times were when wealthy friends I’d known in my old world came to the dock looking for a cheap thrill. I’d seen a few familiar counts, a duke and even a prince and, as Juliet, had serviced them all. I’d been careful to keep my fangs in check on these occasions. Strangely, they never recognised me. I think it was in part my youthful transformation. I also suspected that in some part of their brains, they couldn’t acknowledge recognition of a fellow aristocrat fallen low.

Being a whore thrilled me. I did not see it as shameful. Besides, it was my choice. I didn’t have to live this life for the money but because I chose to, and therefore I picked my clients carefully. I only fucked and bled those I found desirable. This was how I came to move into the next stage of my life.

A young count, who I didn’t know, arrived at the docks with his new wife, a beautiful and fragile woman of eighteen. I watched them enter the tavern with the same trepidation as others. Once I laid eyes on his wife, I knew I had to have her. The count had brought her there for instruction. It was a common occurrence: a young sophisticated and inexperienced
man with an inexperienced wife.

‘I’m Juliet,’ I said, looking deep into his eyes.

His cock hardened in his trousers as I stroked his arm, sending lust into his body.

‘You are exactly what we need,’ he answered.

I took them to my rooms. The woman was quiet. I could smell her nervous perspiration. He’d obviously told her his expectations and though she was unwilling, the guilt at her inadequacy would make her comply. I knew this sort of man. All he wanted was to lie back and be serviced. He would give no thought to his wife’s pleasure at all.

‘Ariadne,’ he said, as he began to strip. ‘Take off my boots.’

She obeyed.

‘I want you to watch how the whore does things to me, and this is what I expect of you. Do you understand?’ There was a threat in his tone. I glanced at the girl. She nodded, very afraid. Interesting. I wondered if he had hurt her, or had at least threatened to.

He removed his clothing, insisting she help whenever he wanted it. Made her unfasten his breeches, slipping them down his legs until she was eye level with his groin. He looked at me then and gestured.

‘Teach her to suck it,’ he commanded.

I smiled. I really didn’t like his attitude and this lovely little girl deserved so much better.

‘I will. But, good sir, I have some other tricks that may interest you more.’

‘I’m an experienced man,’ he lied.

‘I don’t doubt it. But the only way to learn how to give pleasure is to receive it.’

He weighed me up. ‘What do you mean?’

I gestured towards Ariadne.

‘I can show your wife how to enjoy sex, and then she will enjoy servicing you and will be better at satisfying your needs. Lovemaking is not just about fulfilling a lust, it’s about sensual touch, kissing, stroking. Adoring your lover’s body.’

While I spoke I stroked his arm. Then let my hand wander over his bare chest, and down his belly, stroking small seductive circles that almost touched his rapidly hardening cock.

‘Oh my God,’ he gasped.

I saw the light of lust flame in his black pupils. Any moment now, he would try to take me. I continued to flush my power through his skin, leaving a burning trail of sex everywhere I touched. I stopped attending to him and turned to Ariadne. The air crackled with sexual energy now. She shivered with fear and slight anticipation as my hand closed over hers. I pulled her to me.

‘This is how you must kiss your wife,’ I told him. I took her in my arms, my mouth consumed her and my tongue filled her. To my pleasure, Ariadne was a fast learner. She kissed me back eagerly, her body trembling with excitement. I kissed her pink lips until they flushed red. All the time, I stroked her back lightly.

‘This is how you undress your wife.’

I stripped her slowly. Each piece of her expensive satin clothing was peeled away, followed by kisses and strokes. Unlacing her bodice, I kissed her breasts as they tumbled out into my eager and gentle fingers. I sucked on her nipples until she threw her head back. Her knees buckled. I held her up, steadied her and resumed my attention, while beside us her husband sank down on the edge of the bed in fascination.

I had her naked now and I passed her to him. He mimicked my moves, kissing and sucking her nipples gently. Her body rocked against him with renewed pleasure. She obviously loved him. He was beautiful, as was she. I could see that his experience until now had all been about his satisfaction. It had never occurred to him that making a woman moan with excitement was equally gratifying.

He wanted to take her, but I wouldn’t let him; it was too soon. I showed him how to kiss down her body. I spread her on the bed and kneeled between her open legs. Here I licked and sucked her until she cried out, thrashing beneath me.

‘Ariadne,’ he moaned, pushing me aside.

He copied me again until her fevered cries culminated in screams of orgasm. She shuddered beneath him. Only then did I let him enter her.

He lay above her, looking into her eyes. She was swooning with the shock of her sexual release. He fumbled around her eagerly until his cock found the entrance. He thrust hard into her. She arched her back with pain and some residue of pleasure but it was too much.

‘Slow down,’ I said. ‘Draw back slowly, and then plunge.’

He did as I suggested. The joy and passion on Ariadne’s face as he took her spurred him on to gradually increase his movements. The harder and faster he became the more her screams of excitement increased. She dug her nails in him, writhing beneath him like the whore he wanted. Yet, the pleasure was mutual.

‘Larenzo,’ she sobbed against him. ‘Oh please, don’t stop.’

As he spent himself, she exploded once more. Fully satisfied, fully loved, they lay wrapped in each other’s arms stroking and touching. It was the most beautiful sight I had ever seen.

They eventually left after paying me handsomely. I had discovered a new calling.

Chapter 25 – Present

‘News spread far and wide after that,’ Lucrezia smiles, sipping her coffee.

‘So, basically, you became a sex therapist? In the sixteenth century?’ Lilly asks, her eyes wide and round with admiration.

Lucrezia laughs. ‘Yes, I guess so. I ended up doing more of that than whoring afterwards. It seemed to me that men really needed to learn to understand a woman’s needs.’

‘Oh my fucking God! You were a feminist before your time,’ Lilly giggles. ‘I like you so much already.’

I feel a little twinge as the girls smile at each other. A small amount of jealousy will do me good, I suppose. I can’t help thinking that Lilly is mine, and I don’t really care to share her. Luci looks at me as though she hears my thoughts. I slam my shields down.

‘I like you too,’ she responds to Lilly. ‘In fact it is very satisfying being around my own kind. I’ve buried myself among humans for a long time.’

‘Haven’t we all.’

Luci and Lilly look at me. Lilly’s eyes are round with wonder as she turns her gaze back to Lucrezia.

‘I think you have suffered a great deal,’ Lilly observes. ‘Both of you. But you’ve come out of it well. Eternity is a frightening prospect. You’ve both faced it alone and survived as best you can. I feel so lucky right now.’

‘You are lucky,’ Luci smiles. ‘Gabi loves you so very much. It’s something I denied myself all these years. Yes, I’ve coped. I’ve had very little social life though, other than my occasional dip into the world of humanity. It’s easy to become isolated when you don’t have anyone you can be truly honest with.’

‘Haven’t you loved at all?’ I ask.

‘Oh yes. In a fashion...’

Chapter 26 – Lucrezia’s Story

My little world in Rome ticked by without much incident. I thought perhaps that I could stay there forever unnoticed. I had a new brand of clientele and they paid well to learn the art of
love. I recalled a book in my father’s study, The
Kama Sutra
. With my increasing wealth I managed to procure a copy from a travelling merchant.

By then I had a small house, and I decorated it with eastern furniture. Chaise longue of red satin, billowing reams of silk draped around the room. Cushions, beautifully beaded in lovely bright colours, scattered the floor of my main ‘treatment’ room. I had trays of exotic middle-eastern foods, such as Turkish pastes flavoured with fruit oils, on platters. Incense burned on gold plates. I bought all of these things from the merchant Captains at the docks. It was a sort of therapy for me, and I did see myself as a doctor, I suppose, helping her patients. Even though some of those patients were sexually dysfunctional couples.

Mostly I helped young and inexperienced couples who recommended to their friends that they should visit me, promising them ultimate happiness with their new spouse. My skills were advertised and promoted by word of mouth. It was always the men that instigated it, often with the misguided view that they would come away with their wife learning skills that
would pleasure them. They each wanted to possess the ultimate virgin-whore. Yes, the wives learned plenty about the art of lovemaking, but never on the first few visits. The men learned instead. I applied the philosophies of the Indian book to teach them love and to encourage respect for their wives.

My customers were always happy, especially the women. I felt that although my life was much changed, somehow fate had brought me here to help them; to guide these women so that they would not experience the unhappiness that I had suffered. Perhaps it was stupid and misguided, maybe even arrogant of me to think that the universe had some design to make me the saviour of my gender. Yet it was a thought that floated frequently through my mind.

I devised a new background for myself; naturally my clients were curious. I was Juliet, daughter of a sea captain who had travelled the world. I told them I had been born in India. They believed I had been raised in an exotic world that saw love and passion as the norm. Superstitiously they believed that I held some mystical knowledge that would bring them ultimate happiness. It was certainly true that I was charismatic and I used my vampiric hypnosis to relax them.

I stopped feeding from my clients because now that I was more legitimate it would be an unnecessary risk. Instead I used passing sailors to sate my hunger. I did try to disguise myself. I’d obtained clothing that matched those worn by the women in the Kama Sutra book. I’d been told that these garments were called ‘saris’. They consisted of a long flowing skirt and cropped top, which was then covered with vibrantly coloured silks. I wrapped the silk around my midriff and wore it pinned like a veil to my head, while my hair fell free over my shoulders. In a way I worried about my new image, though I tried to pretend it made me appear anything other than Lucrezia. An anonymous whore could be forgotten. ‘Indian Juliet’ however, had become distinctive and for a time I was invulnerable because my new persona was so accepted.

Then, everything changed completely.

I was taking my normal stroll along the waterfront, a habit I’d retained. The morning was bright but cool. I’d grown used to the sounds and smells there. I secretly loved seeing the whores I’d befriended. The atmosphere was always the same. It was only the faces that changed. I hadn’t forgotten my friends; I regularly sent money and gifts to Margo and Justina but they never knew they came from me. I preferred it that way. It was easier that they thought I’d moved on and forgotten them.

Along the pier I paused and looked out to sea. A few miles offshore a huge cargo ship was approaching and I hoped it was the one I was waiting for. If so, it would contain a new consignment of silks to make my Indian outfits from and boxes of the Turkish sweets that my clients enjoyed. I stood, breathing in the sea air. The smells of the dock were both vile and endearing all at once. There was an underlying stench of rotting fish guts coming from the fish stalls, where the innards were scraped out, discarded underfoot and left to rot. Every few days the floor was swilled by sea-water, the remains swept into the sea.

I was hypnotised by the gentle crash of the waves against the hull of the ship as it drew painfully slowly towards the dock. For a moment I became unaware of any movement around me. Then I saw the gypsy. She had luscious flowing long black curls. Her multicoloured skirt and bodice were tightly stretched over a firm and sensuously curved body. She was beautiful. Her dark eyes fell in my direction, but I knew she couldn’t see me; I was still cloaked. She was leaning against the side of a small boat that was upended on the dock, watching the world pass by in much the same way as I was.

What surprised me was that no one else noticed her. It was as if she too was invisible. A beautiful woman standing on the dock would rarely remain unaccosted for long, even if it was merely the flirty comments of passing sailors. Yet she stood unobserved as people passed by. I was only a few yards away but I edged closer.

I studied her emerald coloured sash and her scarf, which had tiny coins sewn on to it. The sash was tied around her hips and over a flared purple skirt. The scarf was tied around her raven hair.

She stared in my direction, her eyes narrowing. I turned and looked behind to see what she was looking at.

‘I’m looking at you,’ she said.

I breathed in sharply.

‘You think you can hide from the hidden?’

‘What do you mean?’ I asked, stepping forward. I must have let my cloaking slip somehow.

‘No, you are still hidden to others, but not to me.’

I scrutinised her beautiful, sharp features. Her eyes were intensely green, not black as I had first thought, and her cheekbones and nose were classically chiselled. She was exotic and stunning to look at.

‘You can read my mind?’ I asked.

She shrugged.

‘I have my skills. I know what you are, but you needn’t be afraid. I’m no threat to you.’

I felt speechless for the first time in years. I could only stare at her as she gazed back at me, her expression curious but warm.

‘I’m Miranda,’ she said, smiling. ‘Would you like me to read your palm?’

I let her lead me away from the docks and out along the road. There stood a barrel-shaped coach with a sturdy grey horse harnessed to it. Miranda patted the horse.

‘This is Bellina,’ she told me. ‘She’s a faithful companion, a strong and sturdy animal. She has been with me for many years and adventures.’ I followed Miranda around to the back of the carriage where a set of steps lead up to a doorway. ‘This is my home.’

Of course I’d heard of the Romany Gypsies and their nomadic lives. As an aristocrat I had been among the privileged few that could afford fortune-tellers, though I had never used one. Perhaps my religious upbringing had always made me wary of the supernatural. Now I knew I had nothing to fear. Miranda could not hurt me. I was fascinated to understand how she knew who and what I was. I followed her into her caravan.

Inside was bigger than the outside, as if enchanted. It was tidy and compact. At the far end was a bunk covered in furs, silks and cushions. It looked like the most comfortable bed, but also would serve as a couch. Miranda lifted up a table that had been laid flat to the side of wall. As it unfolded, a hinged leg extended to give it support, and with a little adjustment she secured it. It took up half of the space in the caravan. She indicated a stool. I sat numbly opposite her, wondering what she would find when she looked at my palm.

Miranda held out her hand to me and I gave her mine after a moment’s hesitation. She looked into my face as she touched my skin for the first time, her eyes widening slightly. I wondered what she observed about my skin that caused that reaction. As though reading my mind again, she shrugged.

‘You feel smooth and cool. Unique.’

Her hand felt strange to me also, though I couldn’t understand why. Even so, I didn’t question her further. I was intent on watching her expression as her gaze fell to studying my outstretched hand.

‘Curious,’ she said. ‘I can’t read you at all. There are no lines, not as there should be. I will need to consult my cards.’

She turned away and from behind her she retrieved a beautiful, polished oak box, and opening it quickly withdrew a pack of cards, wrapped up in a blue velvet cloth. She opened the fabric and handed the cards to me.

‘Cut them. Shuffle if you know how.’

‘Show me how and I will.’

She quickly shuffled the cards, splitting them with skilled and effortless practice, then placed them in my hand. I mimicked her perfectly. She smiled. Once cut, I placed the cards before her as she indicated.

She picked them up and, taking cards from the top, began to lay them in a complex pattern before me. Ten in all.

‘This card is you,’ she said, and turned the indicated card over.

I saw that these were no ordinary playing cards, but were completely distinctive. This card pictured a hooded figure holding a scythe.

‘Death,’ she explained. ‘As I thought. But don’t be afraid, it doesn’t predict death; quite the opposite. In your case, it means rebirth.’

She flipped over the next card. I looked at it long and hard. It showed a crumbling tower. I couldn’t derive any meaning at all from it.

‘This represents your current life. It tells me that you are living in a falsely secure world. But soon it must end.’

Several more cards were turned, and all pointed towards me urgently needing to leave.

‘But why?’

Miranda shrugged, then turned the final card. It showed a man, clothed flamboyantly and holding a wand. Around him stars exploded.

‘This is the magician. Usually it represents someone who is persuasive. It can mean you are going to be coerced, maybe conned out of money or jewellery. In its current position it is far more serious. This man is linked to your past. He is evil, corrupt and will stop at nothing to possess you again. Lucrezia, you need to leave Rome. Your brother is coming.’

Chapter 27 – Lucrezia’s Story

I sat upright in my bed; the intensity of the dream shook me. Miranda was so vivid in my mind that I really believed I had met her and she had read my fortune. Instinctively I knew that the cards were called Tarot and although I was sure I had never seen them before, I was certain that at some time I must have heard the conversation or read the thoughts of someone who had. Blood gave me many images when I took it. I was sure that the mind of some sailor I’d fed from recently had provided me with the image and name of the gypsy, maybe even the glimpse of her cards. But even as I reasoned this out, my stomach churned at the echo of her warning. As I lay shivering in my bed, I believed for a brief moment that Caesare was coming. Somehow he’d learnt I was alive.

It was early morning. I decided to go for a walk to clear my head. I found myself at the docks. Walking the path of my dream was a form of exorcism. I saw the upturned boat, but no gypsy woman leaning on it and I smiled at my own silliness. I, an immortal, had been burnt at the stake and survived. How on earth could a dream cause me so much anxiety? For that matter, how could Caesare still hold any fear for me? He couldn’t possibly know of my existence.

The dock was busy. A new ship had recently arrived. The dock labourers were unloading crates onto a large carriage while several dock urchins were running around their legs offering help for a few coins. I glanced at the boxes as I walked past. The workers didn’t acknowledge me any more than they did the urchins; I was cloaked from their mortal vision. But as I passed by, one of the boxes drew my attention. Pasted on the side was a poster. It looked like the tarot card of the magician in my dream: A man with a wand surrounded by exploding stars.

My heart thumped. I was deluding myself. The only person in the world I needed to fear was Caesare. He would most certainly have the same strength and power as I did. Was this a premonition that he was coming to Rome and that if I stayed he would find me?

I hurried away from the dock back towards my house. As I turned the final corner I saw a carriage I didn’t recognise pulling up outside my home. Instinct made me fall back against the wall and I cloaked myself quickly.

I watched and waited for the occupants to alight. A man stepped down; grey haired and official, leaving the door of the carriage open behind him. He rang the doorbell and my servant, old Federico, answered the door. My keen hearing picked up the exchange.

‘My client would like a discreet appointment with Senora Juliet,’ the man said.

‘Unfortunately the Senora is not home,’ Federico explained.

‘But if you would care to leave a card, the Senora will most certainly send word of when she is available.’

Another man stepped from the carriage, tall, slender, feline.

My world stopped. I would have recognised him anywhere. He was my greatest fear realised.