Chapter 1

In an elegant private room in Paris, Francis Bonnefoy leaned back in his chair and took a sip of wine from his glass. He had been in this room enough times to learn to treasure the peaceful time the early evening brought. There were only two other people in the room with him - he had paid good money to make sure of that fact - but he knew that with enough drink and sufficiently high stakes, the classy room would degenerate into a sailor's pub.

Across from Francis, a German man was taking his seat. He was an odd-looking man, with white hair, whiter skin, and red eyes. Francis paid this no mind. He had met so many strange people in his dalliances through Parisian night life that an albino such as Gilbert Beilschmidt hardly registered as unusual.

"Hey, Antonio did you bring the cards?" Gilbert asked, turning in his seat to face the Spaniard still helping himself to a drink.

"I have some," Francis offered.

Gilbert snorted. "The ones with those naked women on them? Not tonight, thanks. I can beat you all even with those distractions, but you two will need clear heads!"

Antonio, who was heading back to the table with his drink, ruffled Gilbert's hair. "Oh Gilbert, it is so cute when you pretend those things don't bother you!"

"They don't!"

"Yes, yes," said Antonio, taking a seat and pulling a deck of cards from his pocket. "We all know that you are not Francis. There is no need to hide it." Antonio nodded at Francis. "He certainly won't be hiding anything, by the time the evening is out!"

"Why bother hiding anything?" Francis purred, downing some more wine. "Our bodies are divine works of art, created in God's own image. Devout as you are, Gilbert, would you deny me the opportunity to pay worship to His greatest works?"

"I still want to use Antonio's deck," replied Gilbert.

Antonio laughed and handed him the cards, for scuffling. "I am hoping for some good games tonight," he said. "I think neither of you stand a chance against me tonight, hmm?"

Gilbert grinned. "As if! I'm hoping you aren't so drunk that you cry like a child when I win every round!"

"And I am hoping," said Francis, "that with enough bottles of wine, one of you might get drunk enough to accompany me to alone to the back room."

"Why bother go all the way over there?" asked Gilbert, shuffling the cards. "This room cost enough that no one's going to bother us tonight.

Francis tipped back his head and laughed. "Only the best for my dearest friends."

"Your only friends, you mean."

"Gilbert, you wound me! I have many friends."

"Yes, yes, we are just the only ones who you do not have to pay for an evening out."

"I am hoping that with enough wine, Francis might tell some stories," Antonio cut in.

"I might, I might not." Francis smirked. "Perhaps you would want details of that lovely lady several years back, the one with the wooden leg? It came off, and she could use it for all sorts of marvelous tricks..."

"Oh no," said Antonio. "I was hoping for the story of why you swore to never again set foot in London."

Francis choked, mid-sip of his wine. Gilbert froze in the middle of dealing the cards. The two men glanced at each other, before turning to Antonio.

"Did I never tell you?" asked Francis. His voice was lighthearted, but with the slightest quiver. "I am sure I must have."

"And I am sure you did not," said Antonio. "Please, dear Francis! I must know why you abandoned an entire city. Surely it is not because of its location, or else you would have foresworn the whole of England!"

Francis chuckled weakly. "Mon ami, I assure you that it is for no such reason. Granted, dismal London could never compare to the beauty of Paris. But no, it is not for that."

"Then what?"

"He does not wish to say," growled Gilbert, busying himself with dealing the cards. "Do not bother him, Antonio."

Antonio furrowed his brow. "Am I a bother, Francis?"

"Not at all," said the Frenchman. "But this story...I do not wish to say."

"Come now! Are you suddenly so weak-willed that you can not bring yourself to repeat a story?"

"It is not fear that makes me reluctant to speak, mon ami, or at least not the fear you think it is," said Francis. "I fear not recalling the events that transpired, but rather that you will dismiss it all as no more than a flight of fantasy, experienced only after I acquainted myself with one bottle of wine too many."

"Tell the story anyway!" Antonio begged. "Either I believe you or I don't. If I do, you have one more person who knows this strange truth you speak of. If I don't, your reputation is none the worse, for I already know of the adventures wine has taken you on."

"Quiet, Antonio," said Gilbert, the man unusually grave. "Don't talk about this."

"Non. It is fine." Francis smiled at his friends. It might have looked perfectly natural, but it did not entirely mask the pain and sorrow in his eyes. "I suppose it is best that I tell the tale. Better to speak of it amongst friends, than regard it as a child does a monster in the night."

Gilbert did not look convinced. "Francis, are you sure...?"

"Entirely. It shall be our evening entertainment. Something to distract us before our supplies of luck and wine are gone."

Gilbert did not look convinced, but said nothing, in favor of focusing on his cards. Antonio hardly paid his hand any attention, instead watching Francis with eager eyes.

Francis sighed softly and looked at his hand. It was not a bad one. Perhaps he might even win, tonight. "Now then," he said, looking back at his friends. "Gilbert, I realize that some of this will not be unknown to you. For Antonio's sake, however, I must tell this all, so please be patient. It was one year ago, almost to the day, when this happened. At the time, there were three of us staying in London: myself, Gilbert, and Matthieu. You do know of my little brother Matthieu, do you not?" he added, to Antonio. "I realize you have never met him, but I am sure I told you of him."

"The one continuing his studies in Canada?" Antonio nodded. "Si, I know who you speak of. Go on."

"It looked as if an enjoyable holiday was in store for us," Francis continued. "I had not seen Matthieu in many months, and I was looking forward to our time together immensely. And as if that were not enough, Matthieu sent word before making the crossing to England. You see, during his time studying abroad, he met a young man who he fell in with and eventually befriended. He had told this friend much about his beloved older brother - about moi - and he was most eager for the opportunity to finally introduce said friend to me. Thus, his friend would be joining us in London as well."

"That sounds like you were set for a wonderful time!" exclaimed Antonio. "What was the friend's name?"

"Alfred Jones," said Francis. "That was the man's name."