The Maestro's Maker (4 page)

flesh. Like a cornered rat, he tried to flail away from me, but Gunnar would not let him

move. “Now, now, Father,” he said.

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I burrowed into the hollow beneath his jaw and penetrated the tender flesh of his

throat to find that luscious, throbbing fruit just beneath the skin. But the fruit seemed

overripe, and its smell sickened me. My fangs retreated. Feeling as though I might vomit,

I clutched my belly. The priest babbled thank-yous at me. I wanted him to be quiet.

Gunnar furrowed his brow at me thoughtfully. “This is a queer time to become

squeamish,” he said, leaning in toward me and studying my face. “You’ve never agreed

with my methods, but you’ve never turned down a meal.”

“I don’t feel well,” I said.

He narrowed his eyes at me. “That is not a ruse you can work with me, Chloe.

Vampires do not become ill,” he said.

I sat up. The room spun. Keeping my head very still, I looked around wildly. “That is

what you say. But now I see it’s a lie,” I said, while the priest shuddered beside me. “If

this is immortality, you may take it back.”

Gunnar took my jaw in his large hand and made me look at him, to study my face.

“It cannot be,” he muttered to himself. There was something approaching fascination in

his voice.

A great pain surged through my gut and caused me to sweat all over. I thought about

taking off my clothes, but did not want to be naked again in front of the priest. I had

not felt anything like this since becoming a vampire. It was terrible. The sight of stray

droplets of blood, which usually filled me with desire and hunger, nauseated me until I

thought I would die, even though I was very hungry. If I hadn’t felt so ill, I would have

been scared to death.

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The next morning, I felt fine. I went about my day, reporting to Gunnar and making

sure the men did their jobs. But my mind was on the prisoners in the hold. Gunnar retired

early to his room to read, so I decided to feed them early.

They got gruel and stale bread—pretty good fare compared to what I was usually

able to scrounge up for them. Claude-Michel didn’t seem to think so, however. I sat near

him, moving my lantern near so that he could see me in the darkness. Aside from that

one source of light, everything in that room was black to mortal eyes. Rats roamed freely

through the hold, often biting the prisoners. But rat-bite fever did nothing but sour the

meal a little, so Gunnar did not care.

Claude-Michel glared at me. “I am not accustomed to eating with my hands. Do you

think I could have a utensil?”

“Prisoners aren’t allowed,” I told him. “I am sorry.”

He grunted and began to use his bread to bring the soupy gruel to his mouth. His chin

had darkened with a layer of coarse hair. “My friend is dying,” he said.

I looked at François. He appeared to be sleeping peacefully, but I knew he didn’t have

long. His arm was terribly inflamed, running with pus and other foul liquids. Next to him,

Jean concentrated on his plate of food, ignoring me.

“Everyone who finds himself chained in this room is dying,” I said. “But I haven’t been

as sorry about that as I am now, after meeting you. I wish I had known you before.”

Claude-Michel looked at me then, chewing slowly. “How did you come to be with

such a man?” he asked.

I hugged my knees to my chest like a child. “Last autumn, his men came and destroyed

my home. Killed my family. They would have killed me, but Gunnar wanted me for

himself. So here I am.”

“You are a prisoner.”

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“Yes,” I said quietly.

“You are French.”

I nodded. “I am from the countryside. You were right. My husband was a farmer.

Gunnar likes to insult me by calling me a milkmaid. But it isn’t insulting. We were happy

there.” I felt myself blush. I was not educated, but I knew what men like him thought of

women like me, no matter how I painted life in the countryside. Normally, I would never

be interesting to him, but now, I realized, I was his symbol of hope, as he was mine.

“Tell me about your life,” I said. “How do you come to be here?”

I did not think his face could darken more, but it did. “I killed a man in the street

and had to leave France. He was a poor man, and the poor are rioting. They would have

demanded my head. It is a very dangerous time for nobles there, especially in Paris.”

“Killed a man?” I asked. It was not what I had expected to hear. “Why?”

“Because he killed my son, for no other reason than Gabriel was of noble birth. I was

making arrangements for him to marry.” The darkness in his face turned to sadness. He

blinked his beautiful eyes and swallowed.

I leaned over and put my hand on his arm. “You grieve your child as I grieve my

children,” I said.

He looked at me, chewed slowly and swallowed, but did not move away from my

touch. “My daughter also. She was fourteen. I went to my brother’s house in Florence, to

wait for François to bring my wife and daughter. But when he arrived…” Claude-Michel’s

words became ragged as he struggled not to sob. “When he arrived…he had only Jean

with him. He said the crowds had learned of the murder and taken their vengeance upon

my family.”

His chin quivered. Then he took a breath. “Forgive me,” he said, attempting to wave

his passions away with his hand. “I loved them deeply. A man is nothing without his

family.”

As he told his story, my own eyes filled with tears. “What were their names?”

Claude-Michel looked into the middle distance, as though he could see their faces

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hovering in the air. “Angelique, my wife. She had the most beautiful red hair and green

eyes. Our son, Gabriel, was more like me, with dark hair and a quick temper. We did

not always see eye to eye. But he was defending me that day. That is why he was killed.

Defending his father.” He swallowed, then continued. “My daughter had soft blonde

curls, the color of Jean’s, and she was an angel. The most beautiful creature I have ever

seen. Camille was her name.

“We were returning to Paris to find the bastards who killed them and make them pay

when your—Gunnar’s—men accosted us.” He spat out Gunnar’s name with all of the

venom I felt. Then he looked at me again.

“I am so sorry, Claude-Michel,” I whispered.

Over the next few days it became my habit to remain with them as they ate. In time,

François was able to take enough food to keep himself alive, but gangrene had set in. The

stench would have been horrible for a mortal man, and it took every bit of willpower I

had to force myself to stay in that room.

Seeing Claude-Michel’s eyes brighten when I came in made it worth the stench, and

the danger of getting caught. On one particular evening, a mischievous light shone in

Claude-Michel’s black eyes. “Oh
Mademoiselle
,” he said. “The things I would do with a

woman like you. You would enjoy a firm hand, I think, as my Angelique did.”

His words startled me and sent a jolt of arousal through my belly.

“What do you mean?” I asked, intrigued.

“Let me tell you of what happened the night I had to go to the whorehouse to find

my son, on the very night we were to be at a palace gathering. He was to meet with the

du Peliers, with whose lovely daughter I was trying to arrange a marriage. François was

to take Angelique and Camille home, but of course, Angelique preferred to wait at the

palace for me. I do not accept disobedience.”

Gunnar didn’t either, but hearing Claude-Michel say it caused me to shiver pleasantly.

“What did you do?” I asked as innocently as I could.

“I took her across my knee and I spanked her, of course.”

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“Tell me,” I said.

He tilted his head at me then, and lowered his lids enticingly. “As you wish,” he said.

“My Angelique’s body was the color of cream. It was beautiful, even though we had been

together for many years. Our son was twenty-two. So I ordered her to take off her gown,

and I told her, ‘You should never disobey me, Angelique, even in the smallest things.’ I

watched her shiver at my words. She said, ‘Forgive me,
Monsieur
.’ She called me this

when she knew I was about to punish her. I will not lie,” he said, smiling. “It excited me.

I told her she was forgiven, of course.”

I had never considered such a thing exciting, but now felt as though I was discovering

sex for the first time. I wanted to hear more about how my beautiful countryman had

punished his wife.

“I sat on the couch in my bedroom with her across my knee and laid my hand upon

her perfect
derrière
while she waited. ‘I hope the comtesse doesn’t think this is a game,’

I told her. ‘While I may enjoy seeing you sprawled helplessly across my knee, I am

anxious that you take this correction seriously. The very next time you fail to follow my

orders, you will get more than my hand against your derrière. Do you understand?’ And

she said, ‘Yes,
Monsieur
,’ which excited me further.

“I shifted myself beneath her so she could feel me becoming excited. I was ready

for her, but I enjoyed what I was doing very much. I knew I could take my time. When

I began to spank her, she jumped, but was very good and did not cry out. I praised her.

‘Very good,’ I told her. ‘It would not do for our children to rush in here and see their

mother in such a compromising position, would it? To see you lying across their father’s

lap, while he spanks you as he would a little girl, perhaps as their equal, or someone

beneath them.’”

“That’s terrible,” I said, more breathlessly than I intended.

Claude-Michel gave me his most innocent look. “I am a terrible man,

Mademoiselle
.”

“Why do you call me that?” I asked. “I was a married woman.”

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“Because, to me, you are a girl in the prime of her beauty.”

I lowered my eyes. “Thank you,
Monsieur
.”

He took a moment to give me a look I would have found irresistible if circumstances

had been different before resuming his story. “I taunted her mercilessly, striking her

derrière
harder. She began to make muffled cries against the cushion, but still she was very

careful. She begged me to stop and swore she would never disobey me again, something

she had sworn many times over the years. I caressed the pink flesh gently…” .” His voice

trailed. Again, his eyes became distant. “It was the same on our wedding night. She had

begged me to let her go; , convinced her parents had delivered her into the hands of a

madman. But I probed until uncovering the seeds of darkness in her, and nurtured them,

until the mere threat of punishment had begun to make her wet. Afterward, of course, I

took her to bed and made such love to her. I will never forget what she said to me when

I asked if she had enjoyed it:. ‘Enjoy. What a strange word to describe how I feel about

the things you do to me.’”

“It is…understandable,” I said, barely able to get the words out. I wanted him badly.

I had never wanted a man this badly in my life.

Claude-Michel dragged his hand across his jaw. The sound of flesh scraping against

whiskers made my skin crawl. “This beard is appalling,” he said. “I am not accustomed

to it.”

I nodded, reminded he would soon become hairy like a beast, no longer beautiful. He

would lose weight and become gaunt. Only then would Gunnar begin to play with him.

“I am sorry,
Monsieur
,” I said. “Please finish your dinner. I must go soon.”

* * * *

me twice as sick as before. I lay on the bed panting, not caring if Gunnar killed me on the

spot. I felt so sick I wished he would.

But he did not kill me. He merely dragged the priest off the bed and chained him in

the corner again, then returned and took my jaw in his hand, turning my head from side

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to side. He opened my eyelids to examine my pupils, and furrowed his brow. “Perhaps

you really
are
going into phase. I thought perhaps you were sulking.”

“Into phase…?” I said.

“Yes,” he said, letting me go. “This is strange. It didn’t happen to me for years. I was

in phase when you came to me. It’s why I spared your life. It’s why I was able to turn you

into the magnificent creature you are now.”

Patches of darkness swam at the edges of my vision. “Why you were…? What does

it mean? What’s happening to me?”

“You will continue to refuse food for a time,” he said, his voice almost gentle. “I have

always suspected that it is to prevent too many vampires being made.”

I took several deep breaths, trying to understand his words and keep myself from

vomiting at the same time.

“If you feed during this time…if you force yourself to bite another, your bite will

cause him to become a vampire.”

“I thought—” I put my hand to my forehead.

“You thought what, child?”

I fought to keep my eyes open, to keep from heaving. “I thought you knew some sort

of magic.”

He gave me a condescending smile. “No. There is no magic. Science, yes, but no