Perfect Shadows

chapter 10

I stirred in the fading light. My shoulder was much improved, but my doublet was caked with my dried blood and my shirt, what was left of it, was stiff with dried sweat and sticking to me most uncomfortably. I tried to stand, but quickly settled for merely sitting up, as I was feverish and dizzy. Jehan was nowhere to be seen, but returned a few minutes later with another rabbit, alive this time. He offered it to me, dropping it onto the ground and pinning it there with one oversized paw. I remembered what Geoffrey had told me about using animals for sustenance in an emergency, but the quivering, terrified creature repelled me, and I refused it. Jehan gave the lupine equivalent of a shrug, dispatched it with a single snap, and retired to a corner to make his meal. When he had finished he neatly licked his fur clean, then resumed his human form and crossed to where I sat leaning against the dusty wall.

“My lord, I should go on to the manor, and bring back help,” he said, looking anxious. I needed more blood, and that soon, but Jehan could spare me none. “Help me up,” I grunted through clenched teeth, and motioned that I wished to climb out of the vault. Half carrying me, Jehan complied, settling me on an ancient slab in the dark recess between two venerable yew trees. “I shall await you here, and Jehan? Make haste!” The words hissed from me, and Jehan paused only to pull the pistol free and place it in my lax hands, before setting out, changing his shape as he loped off into the dark.

I watched the moon threading the mazes of the churchyard trees, falling into a half-trance of pain and hunger, and only slowly becoming aware of being watched. I turned my face to the figure looming over me, letting the straying moonlight play over the pistol I pointed. There was a sharp gasp as the object was recognized.

“You’re not dead?” It was a young man’s voice, and uncertain, but he continued, “And you’re not a ghost?” I smiled and lowered the weapon.

“I am neither,” I said hoarsely, “though granted, someone has tried to make me both. My servant has gone for help.” I winced away as the youth dropped down to sit beside me.

“Let me see.”

“Can you see anything in this light?” I countered, noting that the young man was older than he had seemed, twenty, maybe, or more. The delicate frame had deceived me, and though the lad sheepishly admitted that he could not in fact, see much at all, my augmented vision permitted me to make out my companion’s features perfectly. I looked at the blonde hair falling over the soft collar, the pliant, petulant mouth, and, hell yes, by daylight the eyes would be a perfect harebell-blue. It was Tom all over again, I groaned to myself, feeling the well-known ache starting up in my loins. I was older and far wiser than I had been those few years ago, I told myself, and this encounter would last only a few minutes, if the young man’s inclinations permitted even that much.

“But what are you doing out here, and alone?” I heard the need rasping in my voice and caught my breath, striving for control. The young man tossed his head, his curls, pale silver in the moonlight, rippled over his slight shoulders.

“I frequently go out alone at night. I do not fear the dark, and I do not fear churchyards. Why should I? The dead cannot hurt you, and everyone in a churchyard is dead!”

“Until tonight,” I pointed out dryly, and laid my hand upon his arm.

“In truth,” the young man said self-consciously, “I was supposed to meet some one here tonight, but I . . . I suppose he was frightened.” The pain in the voice gave away to a more urgent whisper as the youth moved closer to me. “But now I’m glad, I’m glad he did not come!” and the feather-light touch of the fingers trailing along the back of my hand told me that the young man had more than just appearances in common with Tom. I leaned towards the shadowed face, slowly, giving him the chance to back away, and brushed my lips across that pouting mouth, feeling the quickened breath. The young man pulled away for a second, then returned the kiss vehemently, his pointed tongue driving deeply into my mouth, his hands tangling in my hair. I gently caught his hands in mine and lowered them to rest on the slab between us, wincing at the pain that shot through my shoulder as I moved. I softly kissed him before trailing my lips across the youth’s throat. The young man moaned as my needle-sharp teeth pierced his pulsing vein, then shuddered in ecstasy, drooping against me. I took what I needed, feeling the vitality flow into me with his salt-sweet blood, and returned what I could, under the circumstances and in my weakened state.

When the young man raised his head, his eyes shone in the moonlight, and his voice shook. “My name is Roger, Roger Randolph,” he said breathlessly, and waited for me to reciprocate.

“Go to sleep,” I whispered to the boy, exercising the power that Geoffrey had taught me, the power of control over any from whom we drink. I suggested that, while waiting for the friend who never came, he fell asleep and dreamt of a mysterious stranger in the deserted cemetery, and that he tell no one about it. The youth woke and wandered away, unable now to see me in my sanctuary between the frowning yews.