I made my way to Budapest. It had enough of the orient about it that I knew I would be able to function. Once there, it was not difficult to locate the 'wrong' part of the city; my facility with languages helped me in this. I got a room at an inn—temporarily, of course--and found a coffee house patronized by criminals of all sorts. I needed money and I wanted to remain invisible; thus, a quick review of my skills indicated that I would have to hire myself out as a killer. It was that or a male prostitute…ha-ha. I was alright with it. I was alright with anything; I was numb.

In a matter of days, I found a cellar to let. The shrewd widow, Erszebet, was easily distracted from my face by the cut of my clothes and the contents of my wallet. Our understanding was immediate: I told her I required one meal, absolute privacy, and cleanliness. Further, I advised her that I'd pay handsomely for any word she passed on to me, should anyone ever happen to come asking around for someone answering my description.

I had to kill someone who annoyed me straightaway in order to establish myself among the denizens of the coffeehouse. The most difficult part of that was choosing the hapless victim, as they all annoyed me. After this, things proceeded apace. I had work and was able to send money to Christine within twelve weeks of leaving Paris.

I had enough money left over to keep myself in books, and I was adopted by a mangy tabby cat. I brought her in, cleaned her up, and named her Josette. A few weeks' good food put her coat to rights, and she quickly blossomed into a lovely young lady. But it was not as good as it sounds; I kept myself awake until I fell over exhausted. Awake, I could keep myself busy and distracted, but I was tormented by dreams of Christine, kissing and glowing with love at an ugly little boy. Whether it was supposed to be me, or the thing I'd gotten on her, I don't know.

Around the time Christine was being delivered of her gargoyle, I experienced a reawakening of my interest in feminine charms. Erszebet shared her home with two daughters: Ilona, the elder, had an apparently fatherless brat, old enough to toddle and squeal, with a perpetually snotty nose. The younger, Anci, was the object of my lust. She had large, limpid brown eyes, and was built like a girl in a Rubens painting. Besides her lush body, it was her innocence which attracted me. She lacked her mother's guile; likely she was not especially bright, but I was not unduly concerned with that. I did not see much of Anci, since I took my meal alone in my cellar, but sometimes if I was feeling especially cheerful, I would carry my dishes up rather than allowing one of the women to come collect them. Apparently her mother noticed me noticing her, because in due course it seemed Anci was assigned full responsibility for my care. She brought and carried off my meals, she cleaned and she saw to changing my linens.

Initially, I was horrified at Erszebet sacrificing her daughter to a masked wolf in the hope of increased financial gain, so when Anci appeared in my cellar, I made myself scarce. Soon, however, I tossed my misgivings away. I reasoned that it was better she threw in with me than some penniless bastard who beat her when he came home drunk.

Next time Anci came, I didn't run. I pretended to read while I watched her bustle around. I liked watching her bend over my bed, tucking the blanket in. I loved the way her breasts threatened to burst the lacings of her bodice when she put her back into dusting. I dropped my book, mumbling, "I've got something for you to put your back into."

I caught her by surprise.

"I'm sorry, Sir; I didn't hear?"

Once again I felt like a cobra with a sparrow, but it was exhilarating.

"I said you're breaking my heart," I whispered, kissing her hand. I drew her toward me and bade her sit on my lap. When I released her hand, it fluttered protectively to her décolletage.

"Not me, Sir. How?"

"By ignoring me; avoiding me…" we played a game whereby I bestowed a slight caress and moved on before her hand could catch up with mine. Cheek, wrist, back, knee, lips, breast.

"Mama says not to bother you."

"But you do bother me, child," I whispered, drawing the laces of her bodice open. "You know about bothering men," I accused. She shuddered and bit her lip when she felt my tongue on her earlobe.

"No, Sir, I don't."

"Why do I find that so very hard to believe, Anci?"

The only objection Anci raised to my hand on her breast was to warn me that her Mama was right upstairs.

"Well, we shall have to be very quiet, then."

I led her to my freshly-made bed, laid her down and situated myself between her thighs. She uttered not a sound when I eased her skirt up, but she had plenty to say when my tongue opened her. I encouraged her to bite on the pillow until later in the proceedings, when I advised her that she would have her choice of shoulder, neck, ear or lip.

Unfortunately, later turned out to be much later. Anci's silken thighs were muffling my hearing sufficiently that I nearly died of heart failure when she leapt away, gasping that her Mama was hollering for her. As she laced herself up, I extracted a promise from her that she would return when the household was asleep.

Anci was as good as her word; at midnight, she was in my bed and out of her shift. Mindless with lust, I devoured her, only dimly aware of her shock and discomfort. Afterwards, she clung to me, wanting some sort of reassurance I couldn't be bothered to give. As soon as my reason returned, I was empty and I wanted Christine.

Perhaps it is just a game I play to make myself seem more human, but I tell myself that I dislike hurting people. I vowed to stay away from Anci, since I couldn't care for her. But if I tried to avoid her, she'd steal down to me at night, tearful and needy. If I was kind to her out of guilt, she took it for encouragement. Either way, I ended up in her lap.

I gave her money. The first time, she bought herself a brand new dress--the first brand new dress she'd ever had, she said, that she had not made herself. She was thrilled. Some weeks later, I asked her why there were no more new clothes.

"Mama boxes my ears and makes me give her the money," she confessed.

I cornered Erszebet about it. I saw no point in maintaining some illusion of decency between the two of us. "What do you mean taking Anci's money? Give it back, damn you!"

"I've worked all my life for those girls—she—"

"You might as well have turned her out on the street!"

"But I didn't, did I, Sir? She is all yours, and a fresher, cleaner girl you couldn't find in this city. What do you care what I do with the money? You get what you want, and Anci is happy with her girlish fancies of love!" she chuckled knowingly. I was hard pressed to decide whether I hated myself or Erszebet more. But then I remembered who I was; what I was, and I regained my perspective. Erszebet was just a poor woman, trying to do the best she could. In no way did she compare to a murderous monster.

At then end of my first year in Budapest, I took stock. I had killed fourteen men; I knew I could do well financially for a few years, until I had to move on. In other respects, however, I couldn't have been worse. I thought of Christine daily; it wasn't improving at all.

I began to think about making my final escape.