Folies Bergère, Paris
1892
A solitary tendril of smoke drifted upwards, lonely in its elegant dance. Eventually its climb ended at the lofty ceiling, where it joined the choking cloud that on the verge of dissipation would only be replenished by the many patrons of Foiles Bergère.
The room was overly warm, one too many bodies pressed together in a constant state of excitement. A welcome contrast to the world on the other side of the door, outside the rain had turned to snow and the streets of Paris were not only cold but treacherous.
"Have you noticed them?" A sharp, sardonic voice whipped through the thick air.
Hal's eyes which just moments before had been fixed on the dancer currently spinning across the stage turned to his companion.
"You mean the surly lot siting in the corner?" Hal replied curtly, his hand drifting to a glass of wine.
The vampire had come to Paris only six months earlier; his last visit marked by the loss of several heads at the Place de La Concorde by Madame Guillotine. But now it was the beautiful century and Hal thought he might once more visit the French capital. Some 37 years ago he had parted company with Fergus – a fit of contrition driving him to try and give up blood, leaving without so much as a word to the other vampire Lord Harry had made a bid for sobriety.
"Yes." Hal's friend nodded. The newcomer had a thin frame, sharp features in a slim face. His long fingers were curled elegantly round the handle of a sabre concealed in the ubiquitous walking stick. Squeezing the mahogany handle fondly the other vampire looked towards Hal, gauging his friend's reaction.
"I could smell them when we first arrived. Odd, I didn't think dogs were one for cabaret." Hal commented mildly, draining his glass. "Do you think we ought to say hello?"
"You're spoiling for a fight."
"Nonsense Nathanial," Hal chided softly. "Besides I wouldn't do anything as uncivil as to start a public brawl."
"Do you not recall the two of us being thrown out of a public house on Fetter Lane for that exact reason?"
"1612?"
"1615."
Hal smiled at the faded memory, "Youthful exuberance."
"And in another 100 years you'll be telling me this fight was a product of boredom."
"Another hundred?" Hal barely concealed the sigh that came shuddering from his chest.
"How old will you be then?" Nathanial questioned as he fidgeted with his collar.
"502 give or take."
"And how many have you turned?"
"How many have I bequeathed the legacy of enteral life? One too many," Hal hastily poured another glass of wine, his throat tightening, his voice hollow.
Nathanial sighed, before prodding further "Do you know where they are now?"
Hal's eyes drifted back over to the group of werewolves in the corner of the grand ballroom.
"I couldn't say. Fergus no doubt is still cutting a bloody path for himself…"
"And the others?"
"Portia… Well I suppose she's somewhere."
Nathaniel frowned at Hal's apparent avoidance; the woman's name seemed to hang in the air for a brief second before crashing to the floor, a veritable lead balloon.
"Did you love her?"
It seemed to be the pertinent question, Hal Yorke did not show emotion, all you could do was intimate and hope you had asked the right thing.
Hal coughed, turning back to stare at the dancer. Portia had been his first sober companion, the horror of feeding on humans had been enough for her to abstain, her will power had kept them both dry, for a while at least. But Hal had never found it easy when it came to women, something about the way they moved, the curve of their backs and their easy smiles. From the moment Hal had been awakened he knew the carnal need to feed was inextricably linked to sex.
A young German girl had proved his downfall. He still remembered her delicate neck, the soft creamy skin that had given way irresistibly under his teeth. Clenching the tabletop Hal attempted to shake the thoughts, the music coming from the orchestra's pit was beginning to pound in his head, each heartbeat tenfold louder as the strings kept up the frantic tempo. Every body in the room was suddenly singing a siren's song and he felt his throat constrict painfully, he wanted it.
Noticing his friends discomfort Nathanial placed a hand on Hal's arm, momentarily pulling the older vampire from out of his reverie.
"I loved her for as long as she let me," Hal offered truthfully. "In the end she proved to be the stronger of the two us but she couldn't forgive me for what I was."
"A vampire?" Nathanial questioned, his eyebrow arching delicately.
Hal shook his head, "A monster."
"We're not…" the other vampire began.
"I am." Hal's jaw clenched. "Every ounce of feeling that might have once made me human is gone Nathanial. I am a bottomless pit of hunger and death. I feed off innocent people and I look upon their lives with contempt. They are merely specks on my infinite horizon… "
Rising abruptly Hal knocked aside his wine glass, smoothing back his hair he marched towards the table housing the group of werewolves. Chasing after his friend Nathaniel felt a sigh escape his chest.
Hal was fairly certain his eyes were black, but for the moment he didn't care about causing mass panic, in fact he welcomed the thought. Stopping short of the table Hal offered a smile, in place of melancholy there stood Lord Harry.
"Get up dog," he whispered vehemently.
A/N: Hope you liked it! Please let me know what you think!
