If there was one unique aspect of a vampire beyond their immortality, it was their scent, something others of their kind could sense even if humans could not. They were always aware of their surroundings and the numerous smells mortals could not comprehend: a thousand different odors on the wind, from the faint stench of rubbish to the unique, pungent scent of rats in the sewers. It was the stench of decay that grew about the oldest of their kind, for while their souls and bodies did not age, their physical forms did. That was why they sought cold places in which to rest, often darkened caverns and crypts beneath churches, some of them occasionally startling humans into believing that ghosts haunted the cemeteries. In winter it was not so difficult, for the cold infiltrated every room and narrow road, but in the summer months they went into hiding, avoiding the sunlight and lurking in the shadows. The oldest vampires smelled the most strongly; it was not a scent humans could distinguish or even sense, but other vampires knew it, and respected it, even feared it, for the older vampires were far more formidable than the younger ones. Youth in immortality came with strength but it was fleeting and inconsistent; with age came experience, and that made them all the more dangerous.
This particular vampire, the one whose presence was so profound that it had caused Josef to pause on the step of the boarding house, was very old, far older than he had before encountered; its scent was strong enough that it flickered down the darkened alleys and rippled across the cobblestones. Most of their kind would have avoided following it, but Josef was curious, his senses shrewd as he approached, somewhat relieved to find that while mortals could not sense the ancient one's presence, the cold and an eerie feeling of uncertainty had driven them indoors. He knew the other vampire felt him there as well, that gleaming eyes shifted in his direction as he discerned whether or not Josef was a threat. But then came something else, a flavor on the breeze that caused him to turn his head and discover her there, beneath the arches, her porcelain features revealed beneath the brim of a flirtatious little hat. "Coraline," he said; it was more a warning than an invitation, but she draw nearer. There was something exotic about her, enticing, sensual but in a distantly obscure fashion, for she was of royal blood and acted like it, a constant source of movement and sexuality that might drive a man mad for want of her-- and had driven many over the edge.
Her gloved hand came to rest on his arm and she looked up at him beneath long, dark lashes, her breathy voice coming to him in a kind of kittenish purr. "So you are in London," she soothed, making vapid assumptions that he had no desire to contradict. "I thought I saw you disembarking at the docks, but have not encountered you in society. Have you forsaken us, Josef?" Her white teeth gleamed beneath her painted lips and the twinkle that made her so desirable entered her dark eyes, like twin pools of blackness. One might happily drown in them if one was not cautious. Passing her hand over the contours of his cape, she moved around him and came to whisper at his shoulder, "Do you sense it too? It is something dark… something feverish… something ancient." There was bloodlust in her when she said it, an internal force so strong that it struck him as important somehow, a tensing of all her muscles and at the same time, a release of her inhibitions. Coraline was not the pampered socialite in that moment, but the huntress.
"Have you encountered it before?" he asked her, aware of her nearness and the intensity of her form.
Coraline often feigned ignorance when it suited her but on this occasion could not deny the knowledge in her tone, the awareness of her step, the reasons that brought her there. There was a shudder that passed through her almost of delight but also something else, some primal instinct she sought to repress, a fierce desire that was understandable given her pulsating emotions. Her eyes shining eerily in the gloom, she answered, "I have sensed it before… in Paris, long ago. He is one of the ancient ones, perhaps the eldest of them all. There is so much to learn from him… shall we not seek it?"
That was one of her numerous failings, an eternal quest for the forbidden unknown. Coraline wanted to devour everything in her path, be it information or flesh, for her thirst could never be quenched. The idea of ancient wisdom excited her, granted her an immobile kind of certainty that made her courageous. She parted from him and moved down the side street ahead of him, Josef following after lingering hesitation, as curious as she was but far more cautious, for Coraline was still young. Cunning and bold, but innocent in her knowledge of the ways of the world; it was the reason her brother often lingered in the background, protective and aggressive to the point of domineering interference.
Her long skirts swept the cobbles beneath her feet, her poise remarkable, and enthrallment in each movement as she came to the mouth of the alley where the scent was strongest and paused. One of the veins in her throat was pulsing, her instincts on alert as she stared into the gloom, aroused by the scent of blood, faint but distinguishable from the other odors that colored the darkened alley. A shadow separated itself from the gloom and came toward them, a form slumping in its wake as the prostitute drifted to the ground, dazed and weak from the loss of blood. The figure was formidable in height and massive in form, menacing as he approached the slender figure awaiting him, licking blood from his fingertips and pausing to consider Coraline at length, from the tips of her shoes to the black tendrils of hair loosely pinned around her shapely features. She was not swift enough to avoid him when he sprang at her, not with any demonic passion but rather instinct, a reproach for having interrupted him. One instant she was frozen in place and the next she slammed into the wall behind them, long fingers at her throat, sharp and shrewd enough that he might have torn her head from her body without effort, but instead they remained fixed as he looked at her, breathed in her scent, his ominous eyes glittering in the moonlight. He felt Josef approach but did not turn to face him, stiffening as something sharp pressed against his ribcage.
"Release her," came Josef's command, no more than a murmur against the silence surrounding them, reminding his companion that he held a stake beneath his heart. The ancient one hesitated for an instant and then relinquished his hold. Coraline dropped to the ground, coughing violently, and the free hand now turned against his assailant, knocking the instrument out of the way and forcing him into the gray paving stones behind them. Josef did not go as easily as Coraline had and fell back, snarling deep in his throat a warning for the vampire to remain at a distance. He stood between them, between the formidable young man and the fallen Parisian angel, a dark stain against the iridescent sheen of the night. "You are one of Lola's," he said with understanding. "Her scent lingers on you. And you, my darling," and he turned fierce eyes to Coraline as she rose to her feet, "are Lance's most recent prize."
There was a kind of fascination in her face as she stared at him, marveling at the marble contours of his skin, so translucent and statue-like that no one might have looked at him in daylight without knowing he was a creature of the night. "You know Lance?" she inquired with a hint of respect, for her brother was formidable, and anyone who dared cross his sister must be equally so. There was no hint of danger about the stranger now, for he had compelled them to acknowledge his superiority, but Josef was still watchful as Coraline moved toward him, circling the stranger at a distance.
"When you are as old as I, you know them all," came the careless response; "their scents and also the scent of those they have sired." He was attractive in his own way, distant in his features and empirical in his impressive stance, the tone of his skin and the tenor of his voice indicating he was a foreigner, for there was a trace of an accent behind it. With a flourish of his cape, he bowed to them. "Count Oren, and this," and he motioned toward the shadows from which something stirred, "is Endrella, my pet." There was a fondness in his tone that accompanied the reaching out of his fingertips, curling welcomingly as a figure emerged from the mouth of the alley, her lips red with blood. None of them had noticed her, for her scent was so faint that it was overpowered by that of her protector. She could not have been more than fourteen, her appearance that of a pampered child but her body that of a small woman.
His companions looked at him with rising suspicion, for it was against the laws of their kind to create a dependent -- any creature who could not survive on its own in the world. The count must have understood their train of thought, for he smiled and said, "That unspoken creed was put into words long after her time, for she is nearly as old as I am, are you not, my sweet?" He tilted her chin upwards and the pretty little face smiled at him beneath a wreath of golden curls. Her features were very distinctive, but there was a hint of a resemblance, one Josef found remarkable as he studied them together. She was a light creature on her feet, her movements swift and her instincts cunning, for while she seemed at ease in her father's presence, he knew that she watched them both with rapt awareness. Strangely, there was no decay about her, as if she were a newly opened rosebud rather than a thrice century old vampire.
"Have you a place of residence in London?" inquired Coraline, for she was aware that the lavishness of their garments did not fit the sordid surroundings. The young woman looked at her keenly through a pair of intelligent brown eyes and replied, "Yes, at the Grand."
"My brother and I have a small house in the upper end. I am certain it would give Lance pleasure to dine with you, if you would care to frequent our lodgings tomorrow evening." Coraline had gone from the intimidated victim to the gracious hostess without difficulty, and their companions considered at length before the count replied, "Perhaps." It was not a yes or a no; or any indication of his feelings toward them, only a single word that resonated in the air and made them aware that the only sound was the faint moaning of the woman in the street as she came around. Coraline stepped toward her in an instinctive, predatory shift and in that instant, their companions vanished into the darkness, fading away with such swiftness that their departure went unnoticed, only the faint mist rising from the cold cobblestones shifting around the solitary figures left behind.
"Remarkable," she said when she was aware that they were alone once more, and Josef did not respond as he came forward to investigate the prostitute sprawled out in the alley. The touch of his hand tilted her head to one side, revealing the set of teeth marks in her throat, as well as her wrist, where young Endrella had drunk her fill. For some reason, their presence had brought more repulsion than fascination to him, but it was clear that Coraline was otherwise inclined, seduced with the promise of untold wisdom, if she might prompt it out of them. The child had seen more of the world than she had, her innocence lost long ago, replaced with an uncommon sense of tranquility that was sinister in its implications. Disinterested in the woman beyond her usefulness, Coraline tapped Josef on the shoulder and he saw that she was holding out a slender, white, printed card. "You may come too," she told him.
He took it from her and discovered it was printed with her address, but before he could respond she too had gone, the air stirring in her wake with the scent of rosebuds that she used to mask her scent.
