Vampire Memories #5 - Ghosts of Memories (15 page)

But in their brief time with Angelo, two things of note occurred.

First, one night Christian was so bored he’d resorted to scanning the bookshelves in Angelo’s study, mainly historical or philosophical texts. But then he noticed a large, leather-bound book on the table titled
The Makers and Their Children
. Something about the title pulled at him. There was a quill and a jar of ink beside it.

He was just reaching down for the book when Angelo walked into the study, mildly surprised to see him. “I was just going to work on that, to start an entry for you.”

“For me?” A cold feeling began to settle in Christian’s stomach, similar to what he’d felt in Paris, that something dark was coming.

Moving closer, Angelo nodded. “It’s a record I’m keeping for all of us.” He paged through until he found the account for Madame Bernadette Desmarais, with detailed information and an illustration of her face.

The cold feeling in Christian’s stomach grew. “Why do you do this?” he asked.

“Keep the record?” Angelo seemed puzzled by the question. “It’s good for us to have knowledge of one another. Anyone can come and read it, and I don’t tattle anyone’s secrets. If someone wants something removed, I remove it. This is just a record to show who we are and that we exist. It’s important.”

“Has anyone ever asked to be left out?”

“No…Why?”

Christian didn’t know this man anywhere near well enough to ask him for a favor, but his stomach had turned to ice, and he felt something pitch-black looming above. “Please…leave my name out. Don’t include a record of me.”

Angelo frowned. “Why wouldn’t you wish to—”

“I’ll do anything you ask. If you ever need a favor of me, I swear I will serve you any way I can. Just leave me out of the book.”

Angelo shook his head in confusion, but he said, “As you wish.”

The cold feeling in Christian’s stomach began to ease.

The other event of note occurred on their last night at the manor. He’d finished his packing, resenting that he’d had to do it himself. Angelo appeared to employ no servants and lived entirely alone. Christian went downstairs and headed toward Angelo’s study, where he thought he might find Bernadette, but upon hearing both their voices inside, he paused to listen.

“What do you mean, he has no gift?” Angelo asked.

“That’s not what I said,” Bernadette answered. “It’s just not like any I’ve ever known. He exudes no aura, no influence as we do, but he can plant suggestions in someone else’s mind, and the result is astonishing. He can pick whatever emotion he wants the victim to feel. He’s not limited to inducing a single emotion…as we are.”

There was a moment of silence, and Angelo asked, “Has he ever tried it on you?”

“On me? Don’t be ridiculous. He adores me.”

“Mmmmmmmm?” Angelo grunted, once again sounding unconvinced.

“There’s something else,” Bernadette went on. “He’s still young, but I’ve never seen telepathic ability develop as quickly as his. He can stand in a room full of people and read five minds at once. It’s uncanny.”

Their voices lowered, and then Christian heard steps coming toward him. He backed away quickly and pretended to just be coming down the stairs.

“There you are.” Bernadette smiled. “Ready to go? Angelo will take us as far as Rouen in his carriage. From there we can arrange a hired coach.”

Christian nodded and offered to carry her luggage, but her words from the study kept echoing in his mind.

The next visit proved a revelation to Christian, but it was also the point in his existence when everything began to change.

He enjoyed traveling from Rouen to Florence. Once they reached Italy, Bernadette had him busy reading the thoughts of every person they encountered, and to his amazement, the foreign words in their minds made perfect sense to him. Inside of a week, he was speaking fluent Italian.

However, they did not spend a single night in Florence. Bernadette took him straight through to a villa about thirty minutes outside the city, where he met two vampires who were expecting them, Demetrio and Cristina.

Almost immediately, Christian felt something in the world shift.

The villa was lovely, with gardens and an orchard, and the décor inside was tasteful and understated. The tables and chests were carved, polished wood in natural tones, and the few paintings on the walls were either portraits in rich, dark colors or still lifes of fruit and flowers. Somehow, he knew that each painting had been chosen with care.

Demetrio was slender, with dark curly hair, and he wore simple but well-tailored clothing and no wig. He’d been an artist during the Renaissance, but after being turned, he’d developed a fear of unknown places and spent almost all his time at home. He’d made a companion for himself, Cristina, and she was devoted to him. She wore simply cut gowns, which looked exquisite on her, and her wheat gold hair was piled on her head, with long strands wisping downward.

She grasped Christian’s hand with a warm smile. “You are most welcome.”

Her voice was sincere. Her expression was sincere, and moments later, once she’d stepped away, Demetrio took his hand and smiled with equal warmth. “Do you play chess?”

“I prefer a good discussion,” Christian answered, as he’d never played chess but did not yet wish to admit it.

Bernadette laughed, and for the first time, the sound of her voice grated on him. “Christian prefers a good party. He likes being the center of attention.”

“Truly?” Demetrio asked. “We do have some society here in Florence. Let us see what we can arrange.”

But Christian was embarrassed by Bernadette’s comment. He looked around, gazing through the dining room out over the terrace. These rooms felt real. This place felt real.

The calm, powerful aristocratic aura surrounding Demetrio felt natural and real.

Christian turned to look at Bernadette in her overly embroidered gown, tight at the waist, with its huge, oversized skirt billowing around her. He looked at her powdered face and rouged lips, and to his surprise, she seemed coarse and vulgar to him. When he thought of their apartments in Paris, with everything painted white and gold, the furnishings suddenly seemed cheap and false.

He didn’t understand.

Until this moment, Bernadette had seemed the finest creature he’d ever known. He’d loved their apartment in Paris. Now both she and their previous home seemed…beneath him.

Looking into his eyes, Bernadette froze, as if she could see what he was thinking, and he glanced away.

“Perhaps you could teach me to play chess?” he said to Demetrio.

“It would be my pleasure,” Demetrio answered. “Come this way.”

But as Christian walked out of the room, he could feel Bernadette’s anxious eyes follow him.

A week later, Demetrio arranged a gathering at the villa, and Christian was introduced to the society of Florence. Rather than a sit-down supper, Cristina had employed servants to walk around serving delicacies on trays. The guests were all mortal, and of course they did not know the truth about Demetrio and Cristina, and this method of dining made it easier for the four vampires to mingle without having to pretend to eat.

Christian drank wine as he read every mind around himself, reveling in the differences of their thoughts from those of his fellow Parisians. It wasn’t that the Italians of Florence had radically different thoughts on politics, music, art, or poetry, but rather that their opinions were their own, as opposed to whatever would achieve the greatest reaction or make them look the most informed. In Paris, image was everything and looking the fool was the worst thing anyone could endure. Nothing was ever said without careful consideration first.

Here, in this villa, Christian heard a number of people just saying what they actually thought.

This didn’t really affect him in his own right, as he had no real opinions on any of these topics. But on the whole, he was enjoying himself, and he was clearly admired by everyone in attendance, and that was all that mattered.

Unfortunately, Bernadette continually reappeared at his arm, and his feelings toward her continued to degrade. He’d begun to see her as more coarse and vulgar every night, and he had no idea what to do about it. He couldn’t leave her. No matter how many bills he charged to her accounts, she always paid them, but she’d made a point of keeping the coins in his purse to a minimum. He was beginning to understand why. Without her patronage, he would soon be nothing again.

And he had no intention of going back.

However, a few hours into the night’s gathering, something else took precedence over his internal struggles. He could feel the people around him becoming restless, even bored. Apparently, they all admired Demetrio a great deal…but he was not an entertaining host, and the gathering was becoming dull.

For once, Christian thought of someone besides himself. He was grateful to Demetrio for both his hospitality and his fine company and didn’t wish his new friend to have a reputation for dull parties.

Christian set down his wineglass.

“Might I suggest a game?” he said, and everyone began to turn toward him. “I have a great confession,” he said in a conspiratorial whisper that still carried. “My family line has a touch of the gypsy, and I can read minds.”

Everyone laughed, and he could feel a spark of energy growing in the room.

“I can tell fortunes and spill secrets just by looking into your eyes,” he went on, and the amused smiles gratified him.

“Prove it,” a young woman named Isabella challenged him.

“Ah,” he said. “She doubts me.” He turned a full circle. “I shall ask a question, and when she thinks of the answer, I shall pluck it from her thoughts.”

He had the full attention of everyone in the room by now, and some people were leaning toward him.

Looking into Isabella’s eyes, he asked, “Where is the most beautiful place a man has spoken words of love to you?”

She blinked in surprise at the question, and he immediately saw the image of an orchard beside a vineyard, and her first cousin, Lorenzo, was on his knees, gripping her arms, swearing his undying love. He was so unhinged in the moment that he’d knelt on an overripe plum and had not noticed. Then he stood up, gripping her harder, and pushed his tongue into her mouth. She could not marry him, as he was the second son of a second son with no prospects, but he was handsome and exciting, and she did not push him away.

But now, for Christian, came the tricky part. He had to do this just right. She was unmarried, and he wanted to give her a thrill and maintain the high energy in the room, but he had to do this without marring her reputation. Boring questions entertained no one, so he had to ask the spicier ones, but if he upset her family, he’d ruin himself.

He straightened. “Ah, I see a vineyard… No, you are in an orchard near a vineyard, and there are blossoms blowing in the air.”

She stopped smiling and turned slightly pale. Then she forced herself to smile again.

“There is a handsome young man on his knees. His hair is dark, and he is swearing his love for you so violently that he’s knelt on a plum and ruined his breeches and doesn’t know it yet.”

The people hanging on his every word all broke into laughter, and Isabella tried to laugh, but she turned even paler.

“Then you spurn him!” Christian exclaimed. “And you walk away, back to your father’s house, leaving the poor young man unsatisfied.”

Everyone laughed again, and Isabelle dropped to sit on a low couch in relief, but she was watching him warily now.

“Read me next,” a man named Francesco called out.

Christian turned to see him, glancing inside his thoughts. Apparently, Francesco was a well-known rake with no reputation to lose. “You?” Christian said. “I fear nothing in your mind will be suitable to share in the company of ladies.”

The laughter was louder this time, but Christian then asked him, “Did you ever have a mistress who left you first? Who broke your heart?”

Across the room, he could see Demetrio watching him with a slight smile. Bernadette was watching him with desperate eyes, but she attempted to look amused.

Christian kept up this entertainment for more than an hour and finally had to plead exhaustion even though his audience begged him to go on. Afterward, the conversations were all quite animated regarding his astonishingly close guesses.

However, he did notice another person watching him carefully through the entire hour. The Countess Catherine Passerini did not ask him to read her thoughts, nor did she laugh much. She just watched him. But something about her caught his attention. She was attracted to him, as most women were, but she was more guarded. Approaching fifty years old, she was a wealthy widow. Her hair was still pale blond, but it had lost much of its luster, and her face still held traces of loveliness, even though lines were beginning to form around her eyes and mouth.

She did not speak to Christian that night, but after the party was over and all the guests had gone back to Florence, for some reason, she lingered in his mind.

The gathering was considered a great success.

Five nights later, Christian found himself in Florence at a dinner party hosted by the Countess Catherine Passerini. Of course, Bernadette, Cristina, and Demetrio had been invited, but only Bernadette attended, and no one had really expected Demetrio to leave the villa. His eccentricities were widely accepted there.