The Nightlife: Paris (The Nightlife Series) (12 page)

I roamed for a time, thinking the unthinkable.  I could feed
Arnaud my blood as Julian had done with me.  I could make him what I was.  But
what right did I have to pass on Julian’s wicked disease to a kind soul like
Arnaud?  I would lose him just the same, and in his stead gain a monster.

Père had been fond of the saying, “The blood will tell.” 
And it was true.  I recalled a line Tante Agnes quoted to me from the Bible,
Leviticus 17:11, “For the life of the flesh is in the blood ... for it is the
blood that makes atonement for the soul.”

No atonement in my blood.  Mine was the wicked blood of
Julian Gautier.

I steeled myself to do what I must.  I returned to my lover. 
“I will do it.”

I removed my only dress that he had stolen for me weeks
before.  I stripped his clothes and bathed him in water warmed from the fire.

I made slow, sensual love to this wonderful man who had
stolen my heart and returned my sanity in exchange.  And then I drained him of
every last drop and he died in my embrace, smiling.

* * * *

I could not stay in the countryside.

The villages I encountered on my way to Paris were mottled with
freshly dug graves, still reeling from the devastation.  We were free again,
but at what terrible cost.

I found Paris in much the same condition as I left it.  The
fighting had been minimal there.  Various factions of the
résistance
had coordinated
with labor union strikes to cripple the Germans at the critical moment.

I soon gravitated back to the dark alleys and streets of the
endless Paris nightlife.  Sliding from party to party, I tried to attend balls
and other social events.  But I had to avoid the upper class elite, they all
knew each other, and some of them had met me years before.  I learned to stay
out of the limelight.  Brothels and bars met my needs perfectly, anonymously.

I practiced my
‘petit
apéritif,
’
taking only a small sip, a short momentary feeding from
several donors a night.  I returned to the role of escort and prostitute out of
necessity.  These brief liaisons helped assuage the loneliness, helped me pass
the nights with a smile.  But I never connected with the men.  I never met the
same man more than twice.

I returned to the mansion to find my father’s will named me
as the sole heir to the massive house and his accounts.  I could not bear to
stay at the mansion for long.  I lived in simple apartments, occasionally a
hotel.  I liked to live with a view of the river to remind me of those golden
years with Agnes in the loft.

I had no relationships apart from the law firm that managed
my father’s estate, my inheritance.  I had little use for the money.  Men would
give me anything I wanted.  Wealthy men offered their entire fortunes if I
would stay with them.  But I did not.

The law firm changed employees, partners died, were
replaced, the firm was bought and sold twice over, and then incorporated as a banking
and trust entity.  They maintained my accounts and holdings throughout the
years.  The corporate faces changed so frequently that no one realized this
beautiful twenty-six year old woman was forty-fifty-sixty years old on paper.

I feared someone would notice eventually.  I arranged for my
own death.  Michelle de Mornac died, and her grand-daughter carrying the same
namesake inherited her wealth and the mansion.  It was relatively easy to pay
off the right officials for the paperwork.  France has always had a healthy
supply of corrupt bureaucrats.

I lived a safe, comfortable, simple but lonely life.  I
refused to make more monsters like me.  I feared creating another Julian.  I
conveniently remained solitary, unattached to the world around me.

My simple, unfettered existence changed drastically two
months ago on that fateful night I met Aaron Pilan.  I threw all caution to the
wind, and took a chance on Aaron.  I saved a life, for the first time ever.

Me, the monster, I saved his life.

And now I had a wonderful lover, friend and companion to
show for it.  No regrets, so far.

* * * *

Chapter 17

Aaron reeled his mind away from Michelle, withdrawing back
into himself.  He took a minute or so to reorient.  He had existed in her mind
and body, experienced her memories firsthand.  Their joining had been the most
intimate experience of his life, two minds sharing one body.

As he remembered himself, his identity, Michelle’s gruesome
history hit him like a slap to the face.  The bloodslaves, the Germans, the French
cops, she had murdered them all.  Cut them to pieces.

Hundreds.

She killed them a dozen at a time, a blood-thirsty feral creature.

Her soul held a dark and wicked stain from those years of
murder.  This was not the Michelle he fell in love with.  This was not the
Michelle he met on the streets of New York.  This creature sitting beside him, holding
his hands, was a monster.

A killer extraordinaire.

Serial killers could not begin to compare to Michelle’s
reign of death.

“Oh.  My.  God.”  He backed away from her quickly.  “All
those people.  You killed all those people.”

“
La guerre, c'est l'enfer
.” 
War
is hell
. 
She could hardly look him in the eyes.  “I had not learned
control.  Julian did not have any control.  I was what he made me.”

Aaron shook his head, trying to dislodge the horrible
memories.  A useless exercise.  The mind, stretched to new dimensions by
images, thoughts, and ideas, can never return to its former shape.

“Seventy years, Aaron.”  She stood up and advanced on him,
bravely holding his accusing gaze.  “I have changed.  I learned to respect
life.”

As she stepped towards him, he backed away.  “You didn’t
have to kill Arnaud.  You didn’t have to kill those bloodslaves.  All they
needed was a blood transfusion, some medical care, a nurse or doctor, some
food.  Most of them were starving!”

She shook her head, her eyes willing him to understand, to
forgive.  “I learned control.  I have never taken another bloodslave.  This is
why I forbid you to do it.”

“Liar.  You enjoyed it.  You reveled in the carnage.  I was
there, and I know how you felt.”

“I am sorry.  You were not ready for this.”

“I was ready for the truth, but you’re not.  The bloodslaves
died because you didn’t give a shit, didn’t know any better.  With a little
care and caution, and medical treatment, I could have as many bloodslaves as I
can handle.”  He pointed a finger of righteous indignation.  “I am nothing like
you.  And I refuse to live this lonely half-life because of your foolish
superstitions.”

“You would take bloodslaves and watch them die, like
Anastasia?”

“Bullshit!  She died from that trigger-happy asshole
Colombian!  I didn’t kill her!”

“You would have.  Only a matter of time.  They are
cattle
,
there can be no life with them.”  Her hands shook as she reached for him,
beseeching him to see reason.

“Oh that’s just great.  Now you’re quoting that fucking
psycho Julian?  He really fucked your head up.  You still can’t admit the truth
after all these years?  They died because you killed them.”  He stabbed his
finger at her, sinking home the accusation.  “You refuse to have more bloodslaves,
because you refuse to face the fact you murdered Lucas and Arnaud and all those
other women.  It’s a self-serving superstition based in denial.  Michelle, if
you had taken care of them, they would have lived to a ripe old age, and
happy.  Lucas would be eighty-something years old.  He loved you.  They all
loved you.  And you gave them only death.”

“
Non!
”
 
She lashed out at him, lethal claws slicing through the air as he danced back
out of her reach. 
“
Tu
es plein de merde
.”

“I’m full of shit?  You’re the one always talking about
control.  You know damn well we can feed from three to four donors a night, and
it doesn’t hurt them in the least.”

“And what would happen if we did this to the same people every
night?  They would die!”

He finally took her hands, to still their lethal flexing. 
“Michelle, you’re wrong.  You’ve been in denial for so long you can’t see the
truth.  We don’t have to live alone.  Medical science, nutrition science, it’s
all so advanced now.  We can keep a group of people completely healthy.  There
are all kinds of supplements now, protein shakes.  Shit!  We could afford a
full time nurse to take care of them.”

He became intoxicated with all the possibilities.  He
imagined a harem.  Michelle’s massive mansion could easily house five to ten
beautiful women.  They could be friends, lovers, companions, a family of
sorts.  He pictured women like Cécile and Anastasia at his side, just like it
was in Vegas.

His fantasy bled through his psychic bond to Michelle and
her eyes darkened with hatred.  “You would do the same as Julian?  You want to
fuck and abuse the women like Julian?”  She started growling, a low threatening
rumble.

“
Non!
 
I will not permit it!  You cannot hurt the women!  No more bloodslaves!  You do
as I command!”

Her words flowed in the unmistakable timbre of compulsion,
enslaving his will to hers.  Her murderous gaze raked him up and down, as if he
were a piece of meat to slice and dice like she had so many others.

“Does it help to cancel out the old wounds, Michelle,
knowing that you can force me to dance to your tune?”  He drove his spear of
truth painfully deep.

She hissed in menace.

“Do it, Michelle.  Do it while you’re angry enough to
justify it.”  He lifted his chin and let his hands fall to his sides, palms up
in submission, wide open for the killing blow.  “Go ahead, kill me now.  Do us
both a favor.  I don’t want to live for decades alone, hiding from the world. 
If you can’t see reason, then just do it.  I know you’ve thought about it
several times.”

Her hands flexed, razor claws itching to give him what he
asked for.  Seconds ticked by as she considered him.  Something of her distress
slipped past his indignant wall of anger.  Her hands clenched, her face
contorted in a mask of confusion and anguish.  Before he could pull back from
his avalanche of accusatory judgment, she turned on her heel and marched out of
the room.

He let her go.  The front door slammed.  The sound echoed
through the empty mansion.

“Shit!”  He’d been so caught up in the adrenaline rush of
her poignant memories, he’d gone too far.  She needed time to come to grips
with some hard truths.  “Fuck!”

He wanted to smack himself.  He probably deserved a good
ass-whooping from her.  He had let his passion and temper run free.  He had
mocked her, called her names.  She didn’t deserve his scorn or condescension.  She
had confided the deepest, darkest secrets of her soul, and he spat in her face
for it.

“Aaron, you are
so
stupid.”  Alone in Paris, an hour
before sunrise, and he didn’t know how to get back to their hotel.  “What are
the odds of finding a cab at this hour?  Idiot!”

He headed downstairs, hoping to find a basement or some room
sealed against the coming sunrise.  After a little exploration he found what he
expected, a room in the basement without windows.  Small details showed
evidence Michelle had stayed there at times.  Her perfume lingered on the
bedding and some of her clothes hung in the closet.

He lay down on the bed, savoring the scent of her perfume,
wishing he could take back his hateful words to the woman he still loved,
despite the dark corners of her soul.

* * * *

Michelle arrived at the Hilton minutes before sunrise,
wondering if Aaron would be there waiting for her with his accusations.  She
remembered very clearly the judgment in his eyes, the condemnation and disgust
on his face.

She had shown him things he was not ready to see.  He didn’t
understand the true nature of this life.  And his words had cut her to the
bone.

Could he be right?  Had she been lying to herself all these
years?  Could they really find a way to live with bloodslaves, as lovers and
friends, without hurting them?

Maybe it was possible.  They could provide them with venom
for the daylight hours, or perhaps medicine could help.  And when they became
too weak, why not give them blood transfusions?  Maybe with some caution and
planning it could be done.

Julian’s whole existence had been a lie to cover up the
truth.  He enjoyed sadism and murderer, hurting people by choice, not necessity. 
Aaron never hurt Anastasia, not like Julian hurt the bloodslaves.  None of
those women had to die.  Lucas didn’t have to die.  Arnaud didn’t have to die.

She sat down hard on a chair in the hotel lobby, reeling in
shock from the gravity of this life-changing realization.  “I killed them. 
They loved me and I killed them like cattle.”

She was so absorbed, she didn’t notice Maximillian Sinclair,
the night manager, until he set his hand on her shoulder.  “Madam,
excusez-moi
.  Madam, I must speak
with Monsieur Pilan.  He is not with you at the moment?”

“
Non
.” 
She snapped at him curtly.

“Is there something wrong?”

“
Non
,
I am fine.”  Everything was wrong.  Her entire life for the past seventy years
was wrong.

“Please inform Monsieur Pilan we have received his wire
transfer.  Do you expect him to return soon?”

His question hurt.  Her heart squeezed painfully, wondering
when Aaron might return to her.  She should go find him, first thing after
sunset she would find him.

Max seemed sensitive to her pain.  “I am
certaine
he will return
soon.”  He patted her on the shoulder, but she looked away, uncomfortable with
the placation.  “If he does not return, he is the stupidest
américaine
in all of France. 
It would be his loss, Madam.”

She smiled quickly, appreciative of his kindness, but
feeling the anxiety of the coming sun.  “I must go now.”  She rushed to the
room and hurriedly secured the curtains against the coming sunrise.

Lying in bed, in the sheets that still held the scents of
their lovemaking, she felt more alone than ever.

* * * *

Michael Jamison paced his hotel room just after sunrise, a
caged animal planning an escape.  This had been the best night of his
investigative career.  The revelations of this night were so intensely
gratifying, he was beside himself with wonder and excitement.  The audio bugs
he had planted in Aaron and Michelle’s hotel room had proven useless so far,
but the CIA model bugging maser gun he carried as he followed them to
Michelle’s family mansion was worth its weight in gold.

He had setup the maser on its tripod while huddled on the
roof across the street, Rue des Rosiers, aiming the laser eye directly at the
bedroom window where Aaron and Michelle sat on the little red velvet couch for
their heart to heart talk.  The maser bounced its beam off the glass, detecting
the most miniscule vibrations of sound waves against the glass.  The ultrasensitive
microphone picked up even the slightest whisper loud and clear.  He had
listened in on Michelle’s staggering confessions.  He heard everything, the
whole grisly tale.  He knew about their weaknesses, their extremely long
lifespans, and the issues related to bloodslaves that led to their foolish
argument.

“How horrible is that?  To argue over whether or not you
should have friends?  Whether or not it’s OK to feed from
us
.  Humans. 
Fuckin’ lame.  They’re like gods, but they squabble like children.”  He shook
his head, laughing.

In general, Mike could care less what the sheeple did with
their lives.  Most of humanity provided absolute zero useful contribution to
the world or the human genome.  What difference did it make if a few of them
died once in a while to feed such sublime creatures?  Shit, everyone knew the
world was headed toward catastrophic overpopulation.  Might do the Earth good
to see a few less people on the planet.

He considered their argument ridiculous and shortsighted.

And he now knew the most important thing of all, what it took
to become one of them.  It was all in the blood.  More specifically, Michelle’s
blood.  She may have feared the potential her blood holds, but Mike saw it
differently.  Opportunity, waiting to be seized, taken, realized for its
fullest potential.

His mind raced feverishly through all the necessary
preparations.  He had eleven hours till sunset at 7:29 p.m. to take ahold of
his destiny, to change everything he had ever known for the better.

“Carpe Diem, motherfuckers!”  He pumped his fist in the air.

While they slept like the dead, he would make his move.  By
the time they awoke at sunset, Mike would have everything he wanted, and
there’d be absolutely nothing they could do to stop him.

* * * *