The Maestro's Maker (20 page)

I never would have left you. I thought you were dead. I thought Angelique was dead. Do

you have food?”

She shook her head. “Maurice hasn’t come yet. He has to go away and find money,

but I think...I think he’s sick, too.”

“Maurice. He left Maurice to care for you?”

She nodded. “Maurice and his wife. But his wife died before Mama. A doctor came,

but when Maurice went to get him for Mama, he found that he had died and the other

doctors wouldn’t come.”

“The doctors wouldn’t come,” he repeated. “We’ll see about that. After I speak with

Monsieur Villaforte, we’re going to find something for you to eat, yes? My friend Chloe

will remain with you until I return.”

She looked at me. I tried to smile at her. “You’re very beautiful,” Camille said, and

my heart broke instantly in two.

“Not half as beautiful as you,” I said.

Claudio stood. I couldn’t help but follow. François was in the hallway, looking ill.

He took a step back at Claudio’s approach. “Don’t listen to her, Claude-Michel. She’s

feverish.”

Claudio grabbed him by the front of his coat and sneered into his face. “Don’t listen

to my daughter? I should not have listened to you! You told me she was dead. I don’t

think she’s so feverish she only thinks that she isn’t.”

Though he still held his rapier, François opened his arms in supplication. “Claude-

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Michel—”

“No!” Claudio bellowed, cracking François’s head against the wall again and again.

“Don’t you dare use my name!”

A look of abject desperation crossed François’ face as he dropped his weapon and

tried to pry loose Claudio’s fingers. Blood trickled over his collar. Real fear shone in his

eyes. “Please...”

Claudio threw him to the floor. François slid several yards, leaving a wide trail of

blood. Before he had come to a stop, Claudio had picked up the dropped rapier and

advanced on him. “Jean, bring my sword! Stand up!” he commanded François.

“No, Claude-Michel, don’t do this. You’ll see, when you calm down, you’ll understand

why I did it.”

“Stand up or I will kill you where you lay.”

François stood and took the sword Jean handed him, half-heartedly blocking the

blows that Claudio dealt. Then he heaved a sigh and stood still. “Claude-Michel, I—”

But Claudio did not stop. He dealt a final blow, slicing right through François’ wrist

and causing his sword to clatter to the floor, still clutched by his right hand. A look of

shock came over François’ face as he stared at it, then at the blood spewing from his limb.

Claudio backed away as droplets sprayed his face. François screamed and clutched the

arm to him, cast an injured look at Claudio, and fled.

“If you ever return, I will kill you!” Claudio screamed after him.

Jean stood by the wall, his eyes widened in shock. I don’t know what I did. I felt as

though I had disappeared, and that the scene in front of my eyes was all that existed. “Tell

Bernardo and Florentine to clean this up and get rid of that,” Claudio said, nodding at

François’ severed hand.

Jean did not move, but continued to stare at the blood-covered corridor.

“Jean!” Claudio shouted.

The boy blinked and nodded, looking as though he may be sick. “
Oui, Monsieur
.”

“And see if we have something left for my daughter to eat.”

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“Florentine already did,” Jean said. “There is some bread and wine. I can get more

in the morning.”

“We will get more tonight,” Claudio said, wiping the blood from his face as he strode

toward the stairs. “We are going to find a doctor and bring him here by force if necessary.

And if you ever see François Villaforte again, tell me,” he said, on the way down the

stairs. I did not understand why he wasn’t with his daughter.

“Claudio?” I called. “Where are you going?”

“To save my daughter’s life.”

I advanced on him, standing close and whispering too low for the girl to hear. “She

wants you here. It is a miracle she has lived this long. If she dies tonight wanting to be

with you, how will you feel?”

“A doctor can save her,” he said.

“A doctor couldn’t save the other woman, could he? Your daughter wants you to be

with her tonight. She is frightened and she misses you. Will you leave her again when you

have the chance to comfort her?”

He looked at Jean, who lowered his eyes, then turned back to me. Without speaking,

he walked slowly back up the stairs. “Get me water and something to clean myself with,”

he said to Jean.

Jean nodded hastily and left. Claudio stood and stared at the blood in the hall, then

bellowed in rage and threw his weapon.

I stayed with Claudio, who spent the night propped up in Camille’s bed, letting her

curl next to his leg, stroking her hair and back. She had managed to eat some of the bread

and drink some of the wine Florentine had brought. Sometime during the night, Camille

woke with a start, blinked at him and smiled. “I thought you were a dream,” she said.

“No,
papillon
. I am no dream. Try to sleep.”

For a few days it seemed as though she was getting better. She told us about François’

insistence that Claudio was dead and his own promise to return, how Maurice and his

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wife had stayed and cared for them, how the sickness had come and Angelique had cared

for Maurice’s wife as she died. Claudio held her as she cried for her mother.

“She missed you so much,” Camille said. “Every day she talked to your portrait. Each

time she thought she had done something wrong, she told you. She would bow in front of

that painting for hours.” She turned her tear-damp face up to him. “Why did she do that,

Papa? I thought I should do it too, but it made my knees hurt.”

“It was her special way of showing her devotion to me,” he said.

Bernardo came in with fresh water. I could see on Claudio’s face that the boy’s smell

caused Claudio to feel his hunger. He had had no appetite for days, but now his hunger

rose to the surface, too quickly to hide. His teeth grew quickly. Horrified, he turned his

face from Camille, but she had already seen.

“Papa,” she asked with a note of pure astonishment. “What has happened to your

teeth?”

“Nothing,” he said. “It is your fever.”

“Do you want to get some fresh air,
Monsieur
?” I asked.

“Papa, let me see,” Camille insisted. Her begging was filled with so much longing,

he could do nothing but bow his head. “Please, Papa. Is this why you didn’t come back?

Are you a vampire?”

He turned back to her. “What? What do you know of vampires?”

“There are stories. People say they aren’t true, but I always thought—Papa! Your

teeth!”

His fangs had reached their full length. My heart raced on his behalf as I remembered

the look of hatred on Lucio’s face. He had been betrayed by one child already. Another

such betrayal, I feared, might kill him. But Claudio, whatever else he is, is a strong

man who does what he must, so he took a deep breath and turned to her. “Yes,” he said

carefully. “I am a vampire, as are Chloe and François. It is something that happened to

us during our travels.”

Camille’s eyes widened. “Do you kill people and drink their blood?”

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He chuckled wearily. “No,” he said. “It doesn’t happen in that way. They don’t die.

They stay with me so I can feed from them.”

“Is that what Bernardo and Florentine do? Stay with you so you can eat?”

“Yes,” he said. “And Jean, of course.” He smiled sheepishly.

“Are you hungry now?” she asked.

He nodded.

“You should go drink. Then come back.” She clutched his hand as she spoke, as if

afraid he may disappear into the darkness again.

He lifted her hand to his lips. “My
papillon
. I will not leave you again.”

She smiled and closed her eyes, dropping off to sleep immediately.

“She’s been keeping herself awake to be with you,” I said. “The rest will do her some

good.”

Claudio nodded and left, calling for Bernardo, while I kept watch over Camille. But

things did not go well for her during that nap, and she was feverish when Claudio returned

a half-hour later.

He stood by the bed, touching the sheet absently. “I didn’t take her to the theatre,” he

said.

“The theatre?”

“She wanted me to take her for a walk in the park, as I had when she was younger,

but I was too busy with Gabriel, her brother. Trying to find a wife for him. So I told her I

would take her to the theatre Thursday evening. But by that time, I was gone.”

I stood and went to him, surprised by the depth of his feeling for his family. It broke

my heart. It is probably the reason I came to love him as I do. I took his hand in mine and

kissed it. “She bears you no ill will, Claudio. She is very happy right now. Happy that

you’ve come back.”

“I left my wife to die alone.”

“You didn’t know. It was François. Not you. François is to blame for this.”

He sat on the edge of Camille’s bed, stroking her matted hair. “It hardly matters

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anymore where the blame falls.”

Claudio had not moved when she came to later. Her voice was very weak. “Papa...”

He looked into her eyes and tried to smile. “I am here,
papillon
.”

“Papa, I’m sick.”

“You will be well soon,” he said.

“Papa...if you bite me...”

“Shh....don’t speak such nonsense.”

“She’s right, Claudio,” I said, leaning toward him. “It could help her.”

Camille began to cough, fighting for breath. Claudio looked around as though there

were someone there who could help her, but there was no one else in the room besides

us. Finally, Camille’s coughing quieted and she took in a few greedy gulps of air. “If you

bite me, will I get better?”

He and I looked at each other. For the first time since we had come here, I was filled

with hope. “They do seem to get stronger,” I said.

Claudio turned back to Camille. “Do you want me to try? It will hurt.”

“I want to see what it’s like,” she said.

He took her in his arms, trying not to embrace her too tightly. “My
papillon
, my little

one. I don’t want to cause you pain.”

“Please,” she said weakly.

With trembling hands, he moved the strands of hair that clung to her throat. The

strands would not cooperate with his trembling fingers, so I helped. There had been many

terrifying nights in my past caring for sick children, and I knew how to set aside my fears

to do small things, just as the soldier in Claudio knew how to set aside his fears to do big

things. Camille smiled at him. “Like this?” she asked and leaned back her head, exposing

her throat to him.

Claudio’s eyes filled with tears. He closed them tight and kissed her flushed cheek.

Then, with a resigned sigh, he moved his lips to her throat and used the tip of his tongue

to find the spot. She tensed and gasped as he slid his fangs into her, clutching at him.

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He shut his eyes tight and made a face as he drank. I knew the blood must be bitter.

He drank only a little, and set her down. She smiled sleepily up at him. “Don’t cry, Papa,”

she said.

He tried to smile at her, but a strange expression came over him. Then he was at the

chamber pot, vomiting. By the time he had turned back, Camille was asleep. I went to

him and put my arms around him.

* * * *

book, which she sat up reading most of the day. After a few hours of this, I was able to

coax Claudio out for a walk.

“I am going to take her away from here,” he said. “We have to leave this house as

soon as she is strong enough.” We found ourselves at a cluster of three graves—his son

Gabriel’s, Angelique’s and Claudio’s own. “It is odd to gaze at one’s own grave,” he said.

“So much of me has died.”

“I am sorry,
Monsieur
, about this. And about François,” I said.

Claudio swallowed. “We have been together since we were very young boys. And I

never knew he would...destroy everything.”

“He is mad with desire for you,” I said quietly.

“To think my Angelique suffered here alone,” he said. “I would kill him. But I know

that banishment is a far worse punishment than death.”

We returned to Camille’s room to find Victoire looking after her. She brightened

when she saw Claudio. “Papa,” she said. “I feel better.”

“That is wonderful,” he said. For the first time since I had known him, he looked

genuinely happy.

“Uncle Victoire was reading to me.”

Victoire stood up. “And now it is time to go in search of wine and bread, since I am

cursed to remain as I am,” he said, smiling sweetly at me before leaving the room.

“What is that about?” Claudio asked.

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“He wants to be a vampire,” I told him. “He asked me to do it before we came to

Paris.”

“I think you should,” Camille said. “Two brothers. Two vampires. It’s romantic.”

“You have an odd notion of romance,” Claudio said. “But soon you will be able to

travel, and fill your head with foreign lands,” he said.

“Where are we going?”