The Maestro's Maker (8 page)

My heart leapt at the thought of finally feeling his touch. I returned his smile, but he

turned to the sleeping boy. I lowered my head, grateful he had not seen the tears pricking

my eyes. But François saw. He watched silently from his spot on the bed. I thought I

detected a hint of satisfaction in the way his eyes gleamed. Glaring at him, I threw myself

onto the couch.

In spite of my disappointment, I was fascinated by Claude-Michel’s lack of inhibition

as he opened Jean’s breeches and tugged them over the boy’s slender hips. I wanted to be

him so badly. Jean came to quickly and whimpered.

“Are you frightened?” Claude-Michel asked when the boy was half-nude.

Jean nodded quickly. Claude-Michel pet his hair in long strokes. “It is all right,” he

said. “I am still your master.”

“You’re taller,” Jean said.

“But do I appear different?” Claude-Michel cooed.

Jean nodded again. “You look... more alive,” he said, then turned his head on the

pillow like a sleepy angel. “I don’t know what I’m saying.”

Claude-Michel chuckled. “I am sure you know more than you think. Now, I am going

to enjoy you, and you are going to obey me, as always. Yes?”

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Jean turned back to him and nodded. “Yes.”

He did not look at his master as Claude-Michel tested the strength of his senses,

finding all of his favorite spots on Jean’s body with his nose, and with his fingers. I found

my own fingers searching out my body, moving down between my legs as I watched the

spectacle. I began to pant as Jean began to pant with Claude-Michel’s attentions, until his

master opened his own breeches and ordered the boy on his stomach while François lay

on his side, watching them with glittering eyes. Claude-Michel pressed his body against

the body of his servant and kissed his neck tenderly, whispering, “
Cher
,” over and over

in a husky growl. I wanted that voice in my own ear. I wanted to close my eyes tightly

and give myself to it, but forced my eyes to stay open, to watch what Claude-Michel did,

and learn how he made love.

Heat spread from where my fingers worked between my legs, down my thighs and

into my belly as Claude-Michel ordered Jean on all fours. The boy obeyed quickly, but

cried out when his master pressed into him all at once.

Claude-Michel did not know the full extent of his strength. On several occasions,

Jean whispered, “You’re killing me,
Monsieur
.” Several times, Claude-Michel slowed

his pace, all the while gripping the boy’s hips and pulling him back to meet his loins,

leaving imprints that would no doubt soon turn into bruises.

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Next morning, François and Jean watched while Claude-Michel inspected a pile of

clothing I bought the day before from a nearby shop. “It is very strange,” Claude-Michel

said, “that the landlord has not come in to say hello, considering the pathetic state in

which we arrived.”

“But he has come,” I said. “While you were sleeping. The second day we were

here.”

François and Claude-Michel looked at each other.

“While we were sleeping?” Claude-Michel echoed. “And you allowed him in?”

“It is his inn,
Monsieur
,” I said quickly.

“While we rent it, it is ours,” he said, spitting out the word “rent” as though it were

something filthy.

François propped himself on one elbow and tried to appear awake. His teeth were in

and he had enjoyed his first feeding only hours before. Jean slept soundly next to him on

the bed.

“I did not want to alarm him,” I said. “He’s already concerned over what kind of

disease you might have.”

“What did you tell him?” Claude-Michel asked, having forgotten the breeches in his

hand.

“I told him, simply, that being chained in a dungeon had weakened you.” That is when

I happened to look at François, who was watching me strangely. There was a curious

intensity in his blue eyes that worried me. I looked away and tried not to think about it,

but my eyes returned to him within seconds. He was still staring at me, so I turned to

Claude-Michel.

“I would ask you,
Monsieur
…” I said to Claude-Michel. “You will soon feel like the

strongest man in the world. But it would be best, perhaps, if you did not act like it.”

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Claude-Michel nodded and put down the breeches, approaching me slowly, grinning

like a young man. “A ruse of weakness.”

“Yes,
Monsieur
. Unless we leave immediately, but—” I paused as he reached out to

lay his hand alongside my jaw. My heart hammered in my breast. I wondered if I dared

to hope he could want me, but had to make sure he understood the predicament we were

in. “I don’t know how to be in the world. Not as we are.”

“Very carefully,” he said, looking into my eyes. “We will need to stay here for a little

while at least. I wish to make some inquiries in town about an old friend.”

François sighed loudly.

“A friend?” I asked.

“Yes,” Claude-Michel answered.

“Perhaps if you tell me who it is, I can find out for you while I am out this morning.’

“You’re going out again?” François asked. Claude-Michel glanced over his shoulder

at him, then returned to me with an inquisitive expression.

“Yes,” I said. “I can’t wait until you are fully recovered before I seek out additional

sources of food. And I don’t want to exhaust Jean.”

Claude-Michel nodded and pulled away, returning to the clothing. “I see. No, there is

no need to do anything other than what you have planned.”

I could feel my brow furrow, and wondered if I had angered him somehow. I tried to

smile, knowing without a doubt that he would love having a violin again. “I will return

by midday. You should be ready to travel in perhaps two days.”

“It will be interesting to look upon the world with new eyes,” Claude-Michel said to

the clothing.

I made my way to the door, and lingered for a moment to see if François was still

watching me– he was– and then left.

They began talking when I reached the stairs. I went halfway down and stopped to

listen.

“Do you think she is telling the truth, Claude-Michel? About looking for new

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people?”

“Perhaps she is lying,” Claude-Michel answered. “But I can think of nothing she

would gain by it.”

I listened tensely. I wondered why he didn’t defend me to Francois. After all, I had

risked my life to save them.

“Perhaps she is planning to shop,” Claude-Michel finally said.

“Do you think she is leaving holes in people all over the village?” François asked,

laughing. I could tell by the way his voice changed that he was now up and moving

around the room. There was a derisive tone in his laughter I didn’t like.

I heard Claude-Michel sigh. “I don’t know what she’s doing, but I’m sure she will

share it with us once we’re ready to join her. Why are you suspicious? She is our rescuer

after all.”

“I was under the impression that we vampires kept chattel. It will be difficult to

keep our secret if she is roaming the streets eating everyone. Besides, she doesn’t know

what she’s doing. She as much as said it herself. That man had her on that ship for many

months. He did not teach her how to survive.”

“She knows what she’s doing.”

“What if she doesn’t come back?” François continued.

“What do you mean?” Claude-Michel asked. “Not a single mirror in this place,” he

muttered.

“What if she decides we’re too much trouble, and abandons whatever plan she had

for us—and us as well? Like it or not, she is everything we have to learn from.”

“We don’t need this girl to take care of us. Why don’t you try to take a little more

nourishment from Jean, eh? You will feel better once you’re on your feet.”

François did not reply. I was about to leave when I heard him say, “Who, may I ask,

could you be dreaming of visiting here?”

“Katarina,” Claude-Michel said softly. “I want to find her.”

All the breath left my body at the sound of another woman’s name. I felt crushed,

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certain I meant nothing to him.

“That Gypsy whore?” he asked, incredulously. “Why, Claude-Michel?”

“That Gypsy whore,” Claude-Michel answered in slow, even tones, “has been with

me since I last said goodbye to her. Always, I have had her father’s violin with me to

remind me of that time. Now even that is gone. But so are any reasons I once had to resist

seeking her out.”

“She’s probably dead by now, Claude-Michel. If not, then she’s an old hag. What use

could you have for an old woman?”

“I want to see her,” Claude-Michel said. “And I will find her.”

François nodded. “If it is what you wish,” he said.

I left then, dazed. My earlier excitement about finding a violin for Claudio had

disappeared, and I began to think maybe it was best if I did make plans to leave them.

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For a while, I simply walked the streets with a lump in my throat. All of my vampire sight

could not help me see through the tears that were forming in my eyes. I knew, however, I could

not let them fall. I could not show such weakness in the street. A woman alone would attract

attention. I knew I could take care of myself, but what then? What if I was discovered to be a

vampire?

Gunnar’s threats to leave me in the first village he came to returned. I wondered how

much danger I was in. Then I realized I didn’t care. With my family gone and the man I

pinned my hopes on disinterested in me, I had no one. There was no reason to live.

I decided I would stay with Claude-Michel and François for a few months to ensure

they knew how to survive. I remembered how Claude-Michel looked at me in the hold

and new tears formed. Then I remembered the sound of his playing. He needed a violin,

I told myself, even if he didn’t need me. I began my search.

It was midday before I found any sort of violin at all. A young man was playing it for

money in the square. It sounded beautiful, so I approached him. At first, he did not want

to part with it. I offered him almost all the gold I had brought with me—enough to feed

him for a week and purchase another instrument. He could not resist, even though he

gave his instrument one last, longing look as he placed it in the hemp cloth he carried it

in and handed it to me. I gave him the coins and began my journey back to the inn, which

was another hour’s walk.

My success brightened my spirits, and I allowed myself to hope—not for Claude-

Michel to love me, or even want me, but for him to be pleased with me for just a little

while. Then I could pretend things were different than they were, just until the next day,

when I would begin to make plans for living on my own.

* * * *

Claude-Michel was very, very angry.

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He met me at the door. François was on his feet, and looking much better than usual.

Jean sipped a glass of wine on the couch. But it was Claude-Michel who kept my attention.

He worked his jaw and flared his nostrils angrily. His black eyes flashed as they had when

Gunnar broke his violin.

“Claude-Michel…?” I asked hesitantly.

“Put that down,” Claude-Michel said, motioning with his head toward my packages.

I tried to smile, thinking perhaps I had read him wrong. “I apologize,
Monsieur
, for

taking so long. It was a strange errand and I wasn’t sure where to begin, but I think you

will enjoy—”

He stepped toward me. “I said, put that down.”

“Claude-Michel...” I began, but faltered. I swallowed and hurried toward the bed, and

placed everything there.

“Put it on the floor,” he said.

I searched his face, wondering how he could be so angry and what I might have done,

but I didn’t dare ask. I looked at Jean, who looked from me to Claude-Michel uncertainly.

Then I made the mistake of looking at François, who flung himself on the mattress and

grinned. “I do so love the theater,” he said.

I tried to keep my lip from trembling as I did what Claude-Michel said.

In mere seconds he had my arm and was pulling me toward the bed. “Claude-Michel…

what…?” But in another moment, I was bent over his knee with my skirts raised. “Why

are you doing this?” It was more of a panicked cry than a question.

He did not answer. He simply began bringing his hand down hard on my
derriere

until tears spilled from my eyes. He spoke between clenched teeth. “When you say

you will return at midday, you will return at midday, not several hours later. Do you

understand?”

All I could do was nod frantically and gasp. “Please, Claude-Michel...” I begged,

holding a fistful of his breeches leg in my hand, yelping in pain and surprise.

“Don’t cry out,” he warned.

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I obeyed, not wanting to make him even angrier. I could not stop whimpering, or keep

my body from heaving with a steady stream of sobs. “Please...” I gasped, whenever I was

able to catch my breath.

Claude-Michel stopped only when he had spanked me enough so that the pain would