Disclaimer etc.: see chapter 1
Les Chroniques Parisiennes – Chronique 2: The First Party
Luc wandered through the silent house, exploring. Tall and elegant, the sandstone building overlooked a small courtyard and a green park, currently occupied by a few well-dressed ladies with parasols. The sunshine shone outside, but shaded by the thickest of soft velvet curtains, inside the rooms it was dark. Luc pulled back the hangings and turned to examine the room he was in, a shaft of golden sunlight shining on the walls. A music room, it appeared, with a harpsichord, stands, music piled on a shelf, and a violin case in a corner. Gilded chairs dotted the floor.
He closed the curtains again and continued on through the luxurious salons, the breakfast room, the dining room fitted with a long mahogany table and matching chairs, silver candlesticks placed neatly down the centre; the library where the books lined every wall – an odd mixture, Luc mused, making out slowly some of the titles. Some were in Latin, some in French, many in English, and one or two appeared to be in yet another language that vaguely reminded Luc of his own Breton. Novels and philosophy, letters, La Rochefoucauld's Maximes, and on a shelf by themselves, books filled with pictures of creatures that made Luc shiver. He put the book away quickly and left the library behind him.
Luc paused at the door to the study and passed it by, feeling instinctively that this was private territory. He wandered on, downstairs now to the spotless unused kitchen and scullery, and remembered he was supposed to find a chef from somewhere. He frowned at the shining pots and pans and hurried upstairs to his own spacious, sunlit attic room and fetched his hat and coat.
When he got back shortly after lunchtime the study door was open, though no light came from the room, and as Luc passed a voice called him in. He took off his hat and followed the order.
"Good afternoon." Luc bowed in response. "Enjoyed your morning?"
"Yes. Thank you. I found a chef who says he could cook for parties."
"Wonderful. He can start tomorrow. I plan, Luc, on giving a soirée that will be discussed for weeks. Longer, perhaps. I hope you're ready for a busy afternoon." The light hissed on and Luc found himself blinking at Angelus, who was reclining comfortably in his chair, dressed in a red dressing gown. "Remind me to turn on the light if I forget. Now, here," he passed Luc a list of addresses, "are the people I wish to invite, and here," a pile of visiting cards was added to the list, "is my card to leave at each house. Hire a cab or something if you feel it's too far to walk to them all." Angelus handed Luc a wad of folded notes. "When you've done that, or perhaps whilst you're doing it, go to a florist and order flowers for the house. I want them everywhere." Luc nodded, tucking the papers away in his coat. "Get the chef to come here so I can discuss menus with him. I need a small orchestra, but I'll deal with that myself come sundown."
"Is that all?"
"Call in at this tailor's and ask him to come this afternoon. Let's say the chef at four and the tailor at five, shall we? I would like you to be back here at seven and a hot bath to be ready by half-past."
Luc nodded, his mind working feverishly on how he was possibly supposed to get all that done in the time he had. Angelus drew lines through items on a list with a heavy black pen.
"Good. When I've gone out I won't need you again today."
Luc bowed again and left.
The afternoon was hectic. In the end he did hire a cab and together with the driver hurtled around Paris, delivering cards and invitations to a soirée the following evening. Luc ordered flowers and asked the tailor and the chef to call in on his master, and finally, weary and hot, he got back at seven precisely and hurried to heat water for a bath.
Angelus appeared in the bathroom, silently, as Luc was adding salts to the water.
"Thank you."
Luc jumped and almost dropped the jar of bath salts as he stood up and turned around. His employer nodded in satisfaction.
"I – there are towels on the shelf, sir," Luc said, carefully replacing the bath salts in their place. "Would you like me to get some clothes out for you?"
"There's a black silk jacket and trousers, gold cravat, hat and shirt," Angelus replied, passing Luc his dressing gown to hang up and slipping off the old shirt underneath. Luc took it and the day's trousers and turned to go. As he closed the door behind him, his breath caught at the magnificent tattoo that covered half of Angelus's back, the colours of the phoenix bright amid the steam from the bath.
Thoughtfully he got clothes out of the wardrobe and spread them out on the huge double bed in his employer's sumptuous bedroom, and left with the dirty laundry in his arms.
He followed Angelus out of the house shortly before nine and hurried in the opposite direction to an auberge where he and friends he had made in the few weeks he had spent searching for work were due to meet. The other young men were already there, and they cheerfully greeted their companion and made space for him around the table. Someone pushed a mug of coarse red wine at him.
"Busy day, Luc, mon ami?" somebody asked, patting him heartily on the shoulder as he collapsed on to the bench.
"And how!" exclaimed Luc, gulping the wine thirstily. He described his day for them.
"Odd fellow, your what's-his-name."
"You have no idea," Luc said seriously, though as he thought about it, apart from the fact that Angelus had spent the day inside, and the general gloom of the house, his employer's true nature had not been on his mind. He gulped more wine as the question of what Angelus might be doing now crossed his thoughts, and tried not to think about it. He remembered something else, and called for silence. "Who's busy tomorrow night?"
"Me."
"Not me. Not many of us."
"I need to find waiters. This party's going to be big. I need people to serve food, drink, open the door … can you manage it?"
The five friends arrived on time the next evening, entering the house through the back entrance into the kitchen. Luc was setting glasses and decanters ready on trays and dodging the chef and the chef's assistants. He loaded each young man up with a tray and they followed him up the stairs and into the salons, where the florist was putting the finishing touches to the flowers that trailed everywhere and the orchestra was tuning up noisily.
Luc relit candles that had gone out and positioned his friends around the rooms, checking his watch every second. Shortly before nine, as he was adjusting a display of orchids, Angelus appeared, surveying his house with pleasure.
"Luc, congratulations. It all looks wonderful."
"Thank you."
"Everything's ready? Excellent. You found me some waiters?"
Luc took him through the various rooms and introduced him to his friends, and Angelus smiled disarmingly at them and promised handsome payment at the end of the night. Outside the first sound of carriage wheels rattling on the cobbles alerted them, and Angelus, with a final satisfied look at the room he was in, and a short but intense glance at the youngest and handsomest of Luc's acquaintances, clapped his hands and called for music.
The house was soon buzzing with the noise of dancing and talking, fans fluttering and expensive fabrics sweeping the floors. Luc and his friends circulated with drinks and small tidbits of food, bowed and smiled and watched the girls. Luc, remembering what he had been told by Angelus, kept his ears open for the reaction to his employer – but he also watched the latter as he reigned over the party. It did not take Luc long to realise the extent of Angelus's charm on men and women. The younger girls whispered in corners, their mothers chattered admiringly; the young men talked of him as a man after their own hearts, and the older ones compared him favourably to their sons. And nobody, not one soul, appeared to suspect the secret that Luc held to himself in terror.
When time came for supper, the guests crowded into the dining room and hovered around the table spread with delicacies, murmuring delighted noises about the food and the wine. Luc, serving chicken, noticed that Angelus nibbled half-heartedly at the food, though he drank plenty enough with no noticeable effect.
The dancing went on past two o'clock, and then, finally, the carriages began to rattle away again. Luc brought coats and capes and hats to people until the room set aside for them was empty, and then closed and locked the door and went back into the party rooms.
Angelus was sitting back in a chair, a glass of red wine in his hand and a satisfied smile on his lips.
"A success!" he said, as Luc began to collect glasses and put them on a tray. "Wouldn't you say so?"
Luc picked up an empty champagne flute and added it to the others. "Certainly."
"So what were they saying? I saw you listening – and watching." Angelus's smile disappeared. "Luc?"
"They were … all very complimentary," Luc said. "About everything."
"Good. Good." Angelus nodded and drained his wine glass before putting it on Luc's tray. "Go and fetch your friends and I'll pay them."
Luc wondered a little at this, reflecting that surely it was more his job to pay any help he had hired, but he took the glasses to the kitchen and brought his friends back up to his employer before leaving to begin clearing the dancing room. He heard the front door close as he took more glasses downstairs and ran water to soak them in before going up to start putting out the candles. It was nearly four in the morning.
Snuffer in hand, Luc passed through each room, leaving behind him a trail of smoke from the dead candles, dried wax dripped down the candlesticks. He yawned, the fatigue beginning to hit him, and pulled open the closed door to the next room.
The brass snuffer dropped to the floor, clattering on the wood. Luc stood frozen, his hand still on the handle, wanting to run, to scream, to do something.
The room was not empty. On the small table by the chair, a bundle of notes lay abandoned, a carafe of wine drained; but Luc could not drag his horrified eyes or his numbed mind away from the chair itself. The monster had been resurrected, and in its arms, limp, pale, was Luc's delicate friend. His black tie lay on the floor and a thin trickle of blood ran down the white shirt from the wound on the neck.
Angelus lifted the yellow eyes at Luc's gasp of terror and dropped the young man on the floor, carelessly, before standing and crossing the floor. Luc tried to back away but discovered that the door had closed behind him. Trapped. He was trapped. And he had nothing to protect himself with, no cross, no weapon of any kind. He stared at the fresh blood on the fangs, smeared around the mouth, and knew it was his turn next.
Angelus stopped a pace away from Luc, one hand reaching into a pocket and pulling out a handkerchief. It seemed as if he wiped the demonic visage away with the blood. Luc felt his knees give way and he would have sunk to the floor save for the arm that shot out to support him and help him to a chair.
"He was my friend," he managed to say, eventually. "I brought him here."
"And I'm very grateful," Angelus replied easily, sitting down again. "He was well chosen."
"What are you?" Luc said, swallowing down his disgust and feeling cold anger and hatred replace it.
"You knew very well what I was when you accepted this job," Angelus said, folding the handkerchief up and putting it back in his pocket. "Or have the legends of Brittany neglected vampires recently?"
"I don't know." Luc shook his head. "I … I didn't … I didn't think about it." He stopped, and corrected himself. "Yes, I knew. But I imagined, I thought you would … kill … elsewhere. People I didn't know."
"And that makes it better?"
"Yes." Luc felt dreadful, facing the truth. "Yes. I needed the money. I needed this job."
Angelus smiled. "You poor, pathetic creatures. Tenuous friendships but such affecting loyalty. How long had you known him? Three weeks?" Luc bowed his head. "He died quickly. If that makes you feel any better, my dear Luc." The vampire came to Luc's chair and tipped his head up. In the dark eyes there was a spark of confidence and certainty, and something else, that made Luc's blood run cold. "In the end who will miss him? Who would miss you?"
"My family."
"You like to think that, but really they wouldn't miss you, not that much. They'd get on with their own lives on that miserable little farm you were so eager to escape. Like mine did. Until I killed them." Angelus ran a cold finger down Luc's jawbone and it came to rest on the side of his neck. "Tonight was your first lesson. There'll be more." Before Luc could react, or move, or even think, the face had changed again, and the cold finger on his skin was replaced by a sharp, sudden pain. Luc clutched the edge of the chair he was sitting in, tried to break away, but his arm was held by a vice. He felt himself slipping, shadows crowded his vision …
And then Angelus had straightened up, become human again, and the silk handkerchief was pressed against the wound. Luc's mouth was forced open and something strong poured down it. Cognac. He found himself feeling stronger at once, and blinked his eyes once or twice.
"I've marked you," Angelus said, holding Luc's hand over the handkerchief and moving away. "I don't want some newborn idiot catching you. That scar will say Angelus to any fool who looks. You're mine now. Go and get some sleep. Tidy up in the morning."
Luc stood slowly, feeling a little dizzy still. "And … and Jean-Marc?" he asked, gesturing at the body on the floor. Angelus glanced at it disdainfully.
"Normally I'd tell you to get rid of it, but you're in no state at present. I'll deal with it. Go."
Nodding, Luc turned and went slowly out, holding the bloodstained handkerchief to his neck, and up to his room, shaky from fear and the knowledge that from now on his life was in thrall to a demon, a monster; and he could see no way of escaping.
Les Chroniques Parisiennes – Chronique 2: The First Party
Luc wandered through the silent house, exploring. Tall and elegant, the sandstone building overlooked a small courtyard and a green park, currently occupied by a few well-dressed ladies with parasols. The sunshine shone outside, but shaded by the thickest of soft velvet curtains, inside the rooms it was dark. Luc pulled back the hangings and turned to examine the room he was in, a shaft of golden sunlight shining on the walls. A music room, it appeared, with a harpsichord, stands, music piled on a shelf, and a violin case in a corner. Gilded chairs dotted the floor.
He closed the curtains again and continued on through the luxurious salons, the breakfast room, the dining room fitted with a long mahogany table and matching chairs, silver candlesticks placed neatly down the centre; the library where the books lined every wall – an odd mixture, Luc mused, making out slowly some of the titles. Some were in Latin, some in French, many in English, and one or two appeared to be in yet another language that vaguely reminded Luc of his own Breton. Novels and philosophy, letters, La Rochefoucauld's Maximes, and on a shelf by themselves, books filled with pictures of creatures that made Luc shiver. He put the book away quickly and left the library behind him.
Luc paused at the door to the study and passed it by, feeling instinctively that this was private territory. He wandered on, downstairs now to the spotless unused kitchen and scullery, and remembered he was supposed to find a chef from somewhere. He frowned at the shining pots and pans and hurried upstairs to his own spacious, sunlit attic room and fetched his hat and coat.
When he got back shortly after lunchtime the study door was open, though no light came from the room, and as Luc passed a voice called him in. He took off his hat and followed the order.
"Good afternoon." Luc bowed in response. "Enjoyed your morning?"
"Yes. Thank you. I found a chef who says he could cook for parties."
"Wonderful. He can start tomorrow. I plan, Luc, on giving a soirée that will be discussed for weeks. Longer, perhaps. I hope you're ready for a busy afternoon." The light hissed on and Luc found himself blinking at Angelus, who was reclining comfortably in his chair, dressed in a red dressing gown. "Remind me to turn on the light if I forget. Now, here," he passed Luc a list of addresses, "are the people I wish to invite, and here," a pile of visiting cards was added to the list, "is my card to leave at each house. Hire a cab or something if you feel it's too far to walk to them all." Angelus handed Luc a wad of folded notes. "When you've done that, or perhaps whilst you're doing it, go to a florist and order flowers for the house. I want them everywhere." Luc nodded, tucking the papers away in his coat. "Get the chef to come here so I can discuss menus with him. I need a small orchestra, but I'll deal with that myself come sundown."
"Is that all?"
"Call in at this tailor's and ask him to come this afternoon. Let's say the chef at four and the tailor at five, shall we? I would like you to be back here at seven and a hot bath to be ready by half-past."
Luc nodded, his mind working feverishly on how he was possibly supposed to get all that done in the time he had. Angelus drew lines through items on a list with a heavy black pen.
"Good. When I've gone out I won't need you again today."
Luc bowed again and left.
The afternoon was hectic. In the end he did hire a cab and together with the driver hurtled around Paris, delivering cards and invitations to a soirée the following evening. Luc ordered flowers and asked the tailor and the chef to call in on his master, and finally, weary and hot, he got back at seven precisely and hurried to heat water for a bath.
Angelus appeared in the bathroom, silently, as Luc was adding salts to the water.
"Thank you."
Luc jumped and almost dropped the jar of bath salts as he stood up and turned around. His employer nodded in satisfaction.
"I – there are towels on the shelf, sir," Luc said, carefully replacing the bath salts in their place. "Would you like me to get some clothes out for you?"
"There's a black silk jacket and trousers, gold cravat, hat and shirt," Angelus replied, passing Luc his dressing gown to hang up and slipping off the old shirt underneath. Luc took it and the day's trousers and turned to go. As he closed the door behind him, his breath caught at the magnificent tattoo that covered half of Angelus's back, the colours of the phoenix bright amid the steam from the bath.
Thoughtfully he got clothes out of the wardrobe and spread them out on the huge double bed in his employer's sumptuous bedroom, and left with the dirty laundry in his arms.
He followed Angelus out of the house shortly before nine and hurried in the opposite direction to an auberge where he and friends he had made in the few weeks he had spent searching for work were due to meet. The other young men were already there, and they cheerfully greeted their companion and made space for him around the table. Someone pushed a mug of coarse red wine at him.
"Busy day, Luc, mon ami?" somebody asked, patting him heartily on the shoulder as he collapsed on to the bench.
"And how!" exclaimed Luc, gulping the wine thirstily. He described his day for them.
"Odd fellow, your what's-his-name."
"You have no idea," Luc said seriously, though as he thought about it, apart from the fact that Angelus had spent the day inside, and the general gloom of the house, his employer's true nature had not been on his mind. He gulped more wine as the question of what Angelus might be doing now crossed his thoughts, and tried not to think about it. He remembered something else, and called for silence. "Who's busy tomorrow night?"
"Me."
"Not me. Not many of us."
"I need to find waiters. This party's going to be big. I need people to serve food, drink, open the door … can you manage it?"
The five friends arrived on time the next evening, entering the house through the back entrance into the kitchen. Luc was setting glasses and decanters ready on trays and dodging the chef and the chef's assistants. He loaded each young man up with a tray and they followed him up the stairs and into the salons, where the florist was putting the finishing touches to the flowers that trailed everywhere and the orchestra was tuning up noisily.
Luc relit candles that had gone out and positioned his friends around the rooms, checking his watch every second. Shortly before nine, as he was adjusting a display of orchids, Angelus appeared, surveying his house with pleasure.
"Luc, congratulations. It all looks wonderful."
"Thank you."
"Everything's ready? Excellent. You found me some waiters?"
Luc took him through the various rooms and introduced him to his friends, and Angelus smiled disarmingly at them and promised handsome payment at the end of the night. Outside the first sound of carriage wheels rattling on the cobbles alerted them, and Angelus, with a final satisfied look at the room he was in, and a short but intense glance at the youngest and handsomest of Luc's acquaintances, clapped his hands and called for music.
The house was soon buzzing with the noise of dancing and talking, fans fluttering and expensive fabrics sweeping the floors. Luc and his friends circulated with drinks and small tidbits of food, bowed and smiled and watched the girls. Luc, remembering what he had been told by Angelus, kept his ears open for the reaction to his employer – but he also watched the latter as he reigned over the party. It did not take Luc long to realise the extent of Angelus's charm on men and women. The younger girls whispered in corners, their mothers chattered admiringly; the young men talked of him as a man after their own hearts, and the older ones compared him favourably to their sons. And nobody, not one soul, appeared to suspect the secret that Luc held to himself in terror.
When time came for supper, the guests crowded into the dining room and hovered around the table spread with delicacies, murmuring delighted noises about the food and the wine. Luc, serving chicken, noticed that Angelus nibbled half-heartedly at the food, though he drank plenty enough with no noticeable effect.
The dancing went on past two o'clock, and then, finally, the carriages began to rattle away again. Luc brought coats and capes and hats to people until the room set aside for them was empty, and then closed and locked the door and went back into the party rooms.
Angelus was sitting back in a chair, a glass of red wine in his hand and a satisfied smile on his lips.
"A success!" he said, as Luc began to collect glasses and put them on a tray. "Wouldn't you say so?"
Luc picked up an empty champagne flute and added it to the others. "Certainly."
"So what were they saying? I saw you listening – and watching." Angelus's smile disappeared. "Luc?"
"They were … all very complimentary," Luc said. "About everything."
"Good. Good." Angelus nodded and drained his wine glass before putting it on Luc's tray. "Go and fetch your friends and I'll pay them."
Luc wondered a little at this, reflecting that surely it was more his job to pay any help he had hired, but he took the glasses to the kitchen and brought his friends back up to his employer before leaving to begin clearing the dancing room. He heard the front door close as he took more glasses downstairs and ran water to soak them in before going up to start putting out the candles. It was nearly four in the morning.
Snuffer in hand, Luc passed through each room, leaving behind him a trail of smoke from the dead candles, dried wax dripped down the candlesticks. He yawned, the fatigue beginning to hit him, and pulled open the closed door to the next room.
The brass snuffer dropped to the floor, clattering on the wood. Luc stood frozen, his hand still on the handle, wanting to run, to scream, to do something.
The room was not empty. On the small table by the chair, a bundle of notes lay abandoned, a carafe of wine drained; but Luc could not drag his horrified eyes or his numbed mind away from the chair itself. The monster had been resurrected, and in its arms, limp, pale, was Luc's delicate friend. His black tie lay on the floor and a thin trickle of blood ran down the white shirt from the wound on the neck.
Angelus lifted the yellow eyes at Luc's gasp of terror and dropped the young man on the floor, carelessly, before standing and crossing the floor. Luc tried to back away but discovered that the door had closed behind him. Trapped. He was trapped. And he had nothing to protect himself with, no cross, no weapon of any kind. He stared at the fresh blood on the fangs, smeared around the mouth, and knew it was his turn next.
Angelus stopped a pace away from Luc, one hand reaching into a pocket and pulling out a handkerchief. It seemed as if he wiped the demonic visage away with the blood. Luc felt his knees give way and he would have sunk to the floor save for the arm that shot out to support him and help him to a chair.
"He was my friend," he managed to say, eventually. "I brought him here."
"And I'm very grateful," Angelus replied easily, sitting down again. "He was well chosen."
"What are you?" Luc said, swallowing down his disgust and feeling cold anger and hatred replace it.
"You knew very well what I was when you accepted this job," Angelus said, folding the handkerchief up and putting it back in his pocket. "Or have the legends of Brittany neglected vampires recently?"
"I don't know." Luc shook his head. "I … I didn't … I didn't think about it." He stopped, and corrected himself. "Yes, I knew. But I imagined, I thought you would … kill … elsewhere. People I didn't know."
"And that makes it better?"
"Yes." Luc felt dreadful, facing the truth. "Yes. I needed the money. I needed this job."
Angelus smiled. "You poor, pathetic creatures. Tenuous friendships but such affecting loyalty. How long had you known him? Three weeks?" Luc bowed his head. "He died quickly. If that makes you feel any better, my dear Luc." The vampire came to Luc's chair and tipped his head up. In the dark eyes there was a spark of confidence and certainty, and something else, that made Luc's blood run cold. "In the end who will miss him? Who would miss you?"
"My family."
"You like to think that, but really they wouldn't miss you, not that much. They'd get on with their own lives on that miserable little farm you were so eager to escape. Like mine did. Until I killed them." Angelus ran a cold finger down Luc's jawbone and it came to rest on the side of his neck. "Tonight was your first lesson. There'll be more." Before Luc could react, or move, or even think, the face had changed again, and the cold finger on his skin was replaced by a sharp, sudden pain. Luc clutched the edge of the chair he was sitting in, tried to break away, but his arm was held by a vice. He felt himself slipping, shadows crowded his vision …
And then Angelus had straightened up, become human again, and the silk handkerchief was pressed against the wound. Luc's mouth was forced open and something strong poured down it. Cognac. He found himself feeling stronger at once, and blinked his eyes once or twice.
"I've marked you," Angelus said, holding Luc's hand over the handkerchief and moving away. "I don't want some newborn idiot catching you. That scar will say Angelus to any fool who looks. You're mine now. Go and get some sleep. Tidy up in the morning."
Luc stood slowly, feeling a little dizzy still. "And … and Jean-Marc?" he asked, gesturing at the body on the floor. Angelus glanced at it disdainfully.
"Normally I'd tell you to get rid of it, but you're in no state at present. I'll deal with it. Go."
Nodding, Luc turned and went slowly out, holding the bloodstained handkerchief to his neck, and up to his room, shaky from fear and the knowledge that from now on his life was in thrall to a demon, a monster; and he could see no way of escaping.