Disclaimer: The Southern Vampire Mysteries are copyrighted to Ms. Charlaine Harris. All rights to characters and locations in the Sookie Stackhouse books belong to Ms. Harris. Copyrights to original characters belong to me. This work of fiction is not intended infringe upon rights held by others than myself, and I make no profit from this work.
CAETERA DESUNT (The Rest is Wanting)
Part 6: Ave Maria
"Ave Maria, gratia plena, Dominus tecum. Benedicta tu in mulieribus, et benedictus fructus ventris tui, Iesus. Sancta Maria, Mater Dei,ora pro nobis peccatoribus, nunc, et in hora mortis nostrae. Amen."—Gospel of St. Luke, Franz Schubert/music
Chase loved winter, and not only for shorter days and longer nights. The cold season certainly was tailor made for vampires. Dusk came early close to mid-winter, so it was no surprise to find Brandon roaming the streets of downtown Shreveport. Store windows were gaily decorated, filled with holiday fashions and gift ideas. Signs of Christmas glittered and blinked. Trees were covered with lights and tinsel. Garland and banners proclaiming "Peace on Earth" festooned the city, and Salvation Army Santas stood in front of stores ringing bells.
Before his death, Yuletide was one of Chase's favorite holidays. Lighting the Yule log, feasting and drinking through the long winter nights, the receiving of gifts—especially from Henry who was most generous when the mood took him. Brandon enjoyed the music and dancing, the pantomimes and frivolity. Twelve days of celebration, from St. Stephan's day to Epiphany when gifts were exchanged. Some years there'd be snow and the fun which came with it: sledding, riding in sleighs, snow fights. Other times it was just cold and damp. Hearths burned brightly to warm the body while mulled cider warmed the soul.
After nearly five centuries, Christmas lost a little of its luster, albeit he still enjoyed getting gifts. (He just preferred his presents to breathe and have full veins.) To Brandon's eyes, the tinsel was a little tarnished and the lights weren't as festive as they used to be. He avoided attending church, having little interest in religions that damned him to hell. Being a novelty at parties wasn't his idea of fun, and one could only see so many performances of The Nutcracker Suite before wanting to throttle the Sugarplum Fairy.
Invitations arrived daily, and most were tossed out nightly. He sent checks to charity organizations in lieu of attending $100-a-plate fund-raising dinners; what could he eat? Requests for his presence at gala evenings of "Holiday on Ice" and the Opera Guild's Amahl & the Night Visitors. He attended a few private parties hosted by business associates and vampires who pretended they were just humans with odd dietary restrictions. On the whole, Brandon remained aloof from the celebrations, save where his attendance was expected.
Mostly he wandered alone, savoring the beauty of the season. Ever a music lover, Chase attended concerts by the symphony orchestra and recitals by choral groups. He heard a thousand renditions of Silent Night, Silver Bells and White Christmas, each one the same and yet different from one another. Christmas carols were everywhere: stores, malls, restaurants, bars, cars. Church bells chimed the hour with the notes of Hark the Herald Angels Sing and The First Noel.
It was still early in the evening when Chase found himself on the poorer side of town. Not so many festive decorations; a door wreath here, a string of colored lights there. The smell of wood smoke from chimneys, the occasional car. He wasn't far from Fangtasia when he heard singing. It came from inside an unprepossessing building: rectangular, two stories, concrete block walls, double doors in front, a row of windows along the side. He could smell food and heard the soft undertone of shuffling feet. There was no accompaniment for the voice, but the singing didn't need an instrument. The voice was an instrument.
It made Brandon pause. He stood outside, listening.
It was one of the most beautiful renditions of Schubert's Ave Maria he ever heard. She sang like an angel, voice lilting and sweet. The Latin words flowed from her throat, wrapping around Chase, lifting his spirits as little had since he lost his humanity. The song drew him, holding him captive with its haunting beauty. Brandon crept to the nearest window and peered inside, hoping for a glimpse of the singer.
A sign on the back wall read "St. Vincent Mission," and the room was filled with tables and chairs. A line of humans wrapped around the interior: black, white, old, young, sick, well. Like him, they stood in silence, enraptured by the singer's voice. A priest and two nuns stood to one side, serving food from aluminum trays. People filed by with plastic plates and cups. It was simple fare: soup, bologna sandwiches, coffee, milk for the children. In one corner, a small Christmas tree decorated with colorful paper-chain garland, cut-out angels and a few shiny glass bulbs. At the top, a star; beneath, a creche. On the tables, paper covers with a Christmas theme. Some boughs of holly decorating a make-shift altar. Not a cathedral, but to these people the mission meant hope.
It was the singer herself who riveted Brandon's attention. Meredith Ward stood on the raised dais, eyes closed as she sang in a perfect, clear soprano. A halo of pale hair framed her face. Modest clothes, slightly newer than what she'd previously worn. When the song ended, she left the dais to help serve food. The priest asked a blessing and they began to eat with the gusto of those who haven't had a hot meal in awhile. He recognized "Roscoe" and two other men from beneath the I-49 bridge; saw her greet them with a smile as she filled their plates. That expression never wavered, even at the most pitiful sight.
She took her leave while they ate. Chase watched the nuns thank her as she pulled on her old blue coat, the woolen hat and gloves. In moments, she was outside, walking away from the mission. She carried a case Chase suspected contained her lute, walking with a degree of confidence he hadn't seen before. Her expression was pleased, as if she knew she'd performed well.
Perhaps it was this new attitude which made Brandon approach. As if by their own volition, his feet carried him to the sidewalk. "Good evening." His baritone was a little louder than expected; he had no desire to frighten her. Again. "Was that your singing I heard?"
She stopped and turned, eyes wide. "Excuse me?" She seemed startled to find a strange man standing behind her. She peered at Chase, head to one side. "Do I know you?"
"Not really, but we did meet once." Chase stepped a little closer. "I gave you an umbrella."
He watched realization dawn. "Yes! I still have it," she told him, a ghost of a smile on her face. "Do you want it back?" A pause; she appeared a little nervous. "Thank you for loaning it to me." Her eyes raked over Brandon's face, apparently trying to judge him friend or foe. "It kept me from getting completely drenched." Nervous talk.
"My pleasure, Miss. Please keep it. You may need it again." Another step closer, but still giving her plenty of personal space. Chase poured on the charm, smiling and using just the slightest bit of glamour. Just to make sure she didn't panic.
The girl was quiet, blinking a couple of times. She still didn't appear convinced, but there was more curiosity in her expression than fear. "You seem to know my name, but I don't know yours." Speaking voice cultured and polite.
"Chase Brandon," he said, offering a shallow bow.
"Chase." Meredith repeated his name, as if testing the sound of it. "An unusual name. Is it short for something?"
"Charles." A corner of his mouth quirked upwards. "I believe my nanny chose the moniker, since I disliked the diminutions of my first name. It seemed appropriate, since she spent a great deal of time chasing after me."
Brandon watched her expression relax, her posture losing its tension. "My parents called me Merry. Logical, I guess." She shifted from one foot to the other. "You heard me singing? I had no idea my voice carried so far."
"I have exceptional hearing. It was quite lovely," Chase said, acknowledging her talent. "Do you sing solo often?"
"Not a cappella like that. Usually I play lute and sing with the Centenary College Chorus." She indicated the case. "We get a lot of bookings this time of year, but I come here because these people need spiritual uplifting." She looked at the mission, about half a block behind. "It's all about giving them hope."
A cold wind then swept down the street, scattering fallen leaves; she turned her back until it died. Chase frowned, feeling every bit the knave. "I'm sorry, Miss Ward—I'm being selfish to keep you out in the cold. Is your car nearby?"
Hesitation. "I-I usually take the bus, but it doesn't run after eight, so I walk."
"Then, let me call you a taxi—"
"Oh, no need to do that! I only live a few blocks from here." The protest was sincere. "I'm used to walking." She glanced at the dark street and seemed more determined than enthusiastic.
"If you don't consider it presumptuous, may I accompany you? A lovely woman should never be without escort. My parents would be appalled. They raised me to be a gentleman."
Without asking permission, Chase reached for the lute case, his hand brushing hers. The warmth of her sent fire through his body, rousing his passion. Unfortunately, he saw the touch of his cold flesh send a shiver through her. Unless she was completely stupid, she likely guessed what he was. There was a brief flash of wariness in her eyes, but it quickly dissipated because of the mild glamour.
"Sure, Mr. Brandon." There was only a faint hint of uncertainty in Meredith's voice. "It's nice to have someone to talk to."
Chase let Meredith set their pace. She was, after all, somewhat shorter in stature than himself, and it would be rude to make her keep up with his long strides. He didn't offer an arm, though it was a temptation. He'd always enjoyed strolling with a lovely woman (or two) on his arm, his prowess with ladies the envy of many a man at court. Brandon imagined Meredith wearing a brocaded gown, strolling at his side through the gardens of Hampton Court. He had an easy-going, natural charm about him; how else would he have captivated the heart of Henry's sister?
Albeit Mary was quite a charmer herself, and a wildcat in the bedchamber.
Brandon couldn't help noticing Meredith stealing sidelong glances at him, amused he was doing the same at her. He caught her eye, and she blushed. He felt heat from her embarrassment, and literally heard blood rushing to her cheeks. It wasn't easy, but he managed to control the sudden wave of want he suddenly felt. As he gazed down at Meredith, the dirty streets faded out of focus and all he saw was the vision of loveliness at his side.
"...and there're still a few tickets left."
Caught in the midst of his daydream (night dream?), it took Brandon a moment to realize Meredith was talking to him. It was his turn to be embarrassed, a rare event indeed. He looked at her, saw the questioning expression on her face.
"I'm so very sorry. I didn't quite catch that."
"I was just wondering if you were busy the twenty-sixth. That's the annual St. Stephan's Day madrigal dinner," Meredith informed him. "Please come. It's being held in Silver Lake Ballroom, and the proceeds go to the Historical Preservation Society." She paused, adding, "This year I'll be singing the Boar's Head Carol as the servers bring in, well, the boar's head." She laughed, the sound nearly as musical as her singing.
They reached the end of the second block, and turned east onto 78th Street. There were more street lights here, but little difference in what the lights revealed: rundown houses, condemned apartment complexes, abandoned businesses. Chase vaguely recognized the area, but made no mention of that to Meredith. Lights from I-49 glowed amber in the night sky.
Chase vaguely recalled receiving information no the dinner, since he generally supported local charities. It was probably still on his desk or filed away. He usually told Matthew to purchase two tickets, but thought Brandon had never attended. Chase felt odd going to such affairs when he was unable to partake of the meal. Rather like having his nose pressed up against a bakery window while others enjoyed the pastries within.
"I'm not certain—"
"It doesn't matter if you eat or not," Meredith interrupted. "One of my faculty advisors was a vampire. Dr. Gerhardt attends every year. No one seems to notice she doesn't eat." She shrugged, thrusting her hands deep in her pockets. "It's kind of like being vegetarian, or having dietary restrictions. You just let someone know ahead of time."
Difficult to argue with logic. Chase looked at the girl, impressed by her intuitive assessment of the situation. "You make an excellent argument," he admitted. "I'll consider it, since I probably purchased tickets."
"Really?" Meredith seemed surprised, but pleased. "Cool. It's going to be a lot better this year. We got new costumes, and the Arts Council will be helping out."
"Excellent." Chase pondered a moment, then asked, "You mentioned your advisor was a Dr. Gerhardt. Would that be Helga Gerhardt, by any chance?" He'd never known what the German vampire did. Frankly, until this moment, she held little interest for him.
Meredith's nod confirmed. "She was my advisor last year," she explained as they turned south on Dillman Ave. "I have a new one now, since I'm a grad student. Dr. Gerhardt helped me choose the topic of my thesis—the 'Political, Social & Economic Ramifications of Henry VIII's Doctrine on Religious Reform in Medieval England.'"
Brandon's eyebrows lifted. "Sounds impressive."
Meredith chuckled. "It's really just a glorified investigative report on how King Henry went around England smashing monasteries and abbeys, then claimed the gold for his treasury. Quite a manipulator, ol' Henry. A real 'my way or the highway' kinda guy—which is a king's prerogative, I guess."
"Most decidedly so."
It was on the tip of Brandon's tongue to tell Meredith of his intimate knowledge of Henry. How the king flew into rages when thwarted, and how he divorced Queen Catherine for no other reason than he was bored with her and Anne Boleyn was a fetching little piece. The people loved Catherine of Aragon, and called the Boleyn wench a whore. Chase had been one of the commissioners appointed by Henry to dismiss Catherine's household, a task he found odious. Such things he did during then were done for love of Henry, nothing more. He could tell Meredith a great deal about the razing of religious edifices, including his part in putting down the Catholic rebellion in Louth, and the execution of the "traitors." All things considered, he chose not to speak.
They walked in silence for a block before Meredith spoke again. "Did you know there was a Brandon at Henry VIII's court? A Lord Charles Brandon, 1st Duke of Suffolk. He was Henry's close friend, even married Henry's sister." A pause. "Any relation?"
No doubt of it, the girl knew her history. "You learn that from study, or watching The Tudors on TV?" He asked with a smir, teasing her.
It was impossible to miss her annoyance. "While the series is entertaining, it's horribly inaccurate in so many ways."
Meredith went on to list several discrepancies between real history and Hollywood myth. Brandon listened, amused by her recitation. Interesting to see himself, Henry, Catherine and Wolsey though another's eyes. She spoke with authority, admitting historians could only theorize about the loss of Anne Boleyn's stillborn and her supposed infidelity. Perhaps it was the sound of her voice, or the passion with which she spoke, but it was all too soon when she stopped in front of that iron gate.
"This's my house," Meredith said, smiling at Chase. "Sorry to talk your ear off, but I don't often get the chance to talk about it. Most of my friends stop me before I bore them to death." Humor danced in her eyes. "Thank you for walking me home." One of her hands extended.
Chase hesitated, then grasped it gently. "It was my pleasure, Miss Ward."
He felt that same surge of warmth fill him as her flesh touched his. If his heart still beat, it would be pounding in his chest. Brandon remembered what it was to be alive, to feel the warmth of a woman in his arms, her soft flesh yielding. The hunger for sex wasn't dissimilar to a vampire's hunger for blood, the difference being results. A man need only fear getting the object of his lust pregnant; a vampire ran the risk of killing her.
It wasn't easy, but Chase managed to control the urge to take her in his arms, to kiss, to seduce her. To slake his thirst with Meredith's blood. He forced back fangs threatening to extend, contenting himself with bowing gallantly. Chase lightly brushed his lips over the back of her knuckles, but never actually touched her skin. He'd learned that little trick from Henry's dance instructor, John Farley. It was Master Farley's job not only to teach the young prince grace and courtly manners, but to see he knew the arts of seduction, as well. Many a willing serving wench helped educate Henry and Charles. Later, they cut a swath through Catherine's ladies. Old or young, maid or matron, few women refused advances from the king and his friend.
"...should go inside, now."
Again he was caught amidst memories. It annoyed Chase that he so easily lost focus. "Yes, you should get out of the cold." Inane words; how awkward for a 500-year old vampire to act the schoolboy. What next?—an attack of puberty?
"I'll look for you at the dinner, then." Meredith was taking her leave of him, taking the lute case he held. If she found his lack of focus unusual, she said nothing. "It's been nice talking to you, Mr. Brandon."
Recovered now. "Chase, please."
"Chase." Smiling, now that the case was firmly in her grasp. "Then call me Merry. Turnabout's fair play."
"Merry." The sound of her name conjured inappropriate images. "I bid you good evening, then, with hope of continuing our conversation at some future time."
Brandon waited at the gate until Meredith disappeared inside, then turned his steps toward Fangtasia. The walk cleared his head, allowing him to think of other things. A sudden gust of wind picked up a discarded page of the Shreveport Times, tossing it like a kite. It sailed into Chase, enveloping his face. He tore it away, glancing at the large, bold headline. He stopped, took a second look. Then a third.
BOSSIER POLICE FIND SECOND VAMPIRE VICTIM
Chase turned his back to the wind, eyes scanning the article. Details were sketchy—obviously, police wouldn't want to publish all the information they had—but there was enough to give Brandon an icy feeling in the general area where his stomach used to be. A moment later and Chase was a blur as he sped toward Fangtasia. Northman would have questions.
And, God help me if I don't have the right answers.
AUTHOR NOTES: Thanks for the reviews, folks!
To ericsmine – That's what I thought, too. Mind you, I like Sookie w/Eric, but she can be very bratty sometimes. I don't think she stops to realize how her attitude would look to another vampire.
To murgatroid-98m – Chase is no fool. He's not gonna give Sookie a piece of his mind and make Eric mad. Pam can get away with it; Chase? No. At least not right now....