Deepest Midnight - Chapter #2 - Free To Read

“What is it Mills? Do you know that man? He looks familiar,” Alexandre asks as he tugs at my arm again.

Without answering, I pull away from him, spinning around. I have no idea where I’m going, but my head is swimming. If it was at all possible for me to faint, I’d face plant into the uneven cobblestone. I walk fast, but not too fast. It’s important to maintain the appearance I’m just another mortal experiencing a late night, drunken crisis.

Taking deep breaths, I try to order my thoughts. For one thing, it isn’t possible. It can’t be him. Blood tears fill my eyes, but I fight them back. It wouldn’t do to be seen with bloody streaks running down my face. Talk about a terrifying scene for a mortal to witness.

Once I know I’m out of sight, I stop for a minute and put my head against the cool brick of a restaurant wall. I need to calm down. My long blonde hair falls out of my bun, spilling around my face.

Looking back toward the river, I notice Alexandre couldn’t be bothered to follow me. Obviously, my emotional welfare takes a back seat when he’s on the prowl. Which is fine with me. He’d only bother me, at least that’s what I tell myself.

Maybe I should go back to have another look. Just a quick glance around the corner.

Just because I’m immortal, doesn’t mean my mind can’t play tricks on me. I’ve been sullen, obsessively thinking of him nonstop. It makes perfect sense that my troubled mind would manifest him or someone who resembles him. Any psychiatrist would agree with me. The fact he was quite singular in appearance, would mean nothing to a mind that has been as emotionally disturbed as mine of late.

I decide not to go back to the riverfront. Best to wait and collect myself before I stalk this man. I’m going to become like all the women Alexandre has ever slept with and brushed off. I could slap myself.

“You ok, honey? Can I call someone for you?”

I feel the light pressure of a female hand on my back.

“I’m fine, thanks. Just a little dizzy.”

I dare not turn around to look the woman in the face. I can still feel the blood pooling in my eyes.

“Let me call you an Uber, or something.”

“No, thank you, my house is just a couple of blocks from here.”

I circle around the well-meaning woman, keeping my face turned away. Better to be rude than traumatize her for life.

I feel an urgent need to head home. Doubling back half a block, I walk straight up Drayton, passing a lovely mixture of Victorian and Colonial style homes. I hoof it back to Forsyth Park, which our house faces. Completely zoned out, I keep my head down. If there are other people around me, I take no notice. I’m calmer, although my mind still reels. Hopefully, Annie will be at the house. She’ll know what to do.

I was the first of Alexandre’s fledglings. After I had been turned, we left France for the exciting city of Colonial Boston, where I met Annie one night in a pub. The girl had such fire, such personality, I couldn’t help but be drawn to her. For someone who had always been in the shadow of one man or another, she was dazzling. I soon learned her secret. Annie, a woman, was aiding the rebellion against the English. I introduced her to Alexandre, and shortly thereafter, she became one of us.

Neither of us knows much about Alexandre’s life before France. He always says it isn’t worth talking about. Maybe it isn’t to him, but I have always been curious to know more. He won’t even disclose his true age.

Now on Whitaker, but still across the street, I can see the house is completely lit up. Annie is the only one who turns on every light in the house. I breathe a sigh of relief for the first time in twenty minutes.

Our stately Victorian has been here since before the Civil War and is very popular with tourists. The pale-yellow house, with black shutters and two stacked porches which run the entire width of the home, has been ours for about thirty years.

Walking up the steps, the smell of fresh blood hits me. Then I hear Annie’s high-pitched laughter. Of course, Annie is entertaining, I shouldn’t have expected anything less. When my friend brings a man to the house, she usually makes sure there is enough for both of us. She says I don’t eat enough these days, and she’s right. Currently, I’m famished, feeling immediately grateful to Annie for going to the trouble. Not that attracting men is any trouble for my gorgeous friend.

The solid oak door swings wide, framing my rebel immortal in all her glory. No one would dare call Annie plain. Her voluptuous beauty helped her tremendously as she manipulated her way through various high-ranking officers of the English army. She was quite skilled at extracting secrets, then passing them on to the Culper Spy Ring. She is fearless and fierce, always standing up for what is right.

Annie stands in the doorway with the light from the hallway silhouetting her from behind. Her auburn hair tumbles around her in loose curls, her lovely almond shaped brown eyes are shining. Her petite figure carries breasts I would kill for. If anyone can snag two willing guys off the street, it’s this girl.

“There you are. I have someone who is dying to meet you,” she puts the emphasis on dying, because vampire humor is our thing. “Wait, something’s up. If you weren’t already dead, I’d say you look like death warmed over.”

“Something is up in the worst way. I need to talk to you, now.”

“Can it wait until after we’ve eaten?” Annie grins wickedly.

“Only if it’s a quick bite,” I quip back.

“Cute, you win this round. I was hoping to take my time this evening, but for you, anything.”

Annie takes my hand, pulls me inside, and then slams the door. The door is over a hundred years old, slamming it drives Alexandre crazy. She leads me into the living room, and is the first one to speak, “Sam, this is the hot blonde I was telling you about.”

Sam extends his hand, a drunken smile on his lips. I take it, pulling him into me so we are eye to eye. Behind me, I know Annie is doing the same. No words are necessary, it only takes a second to mesmerize him. The moment I’m sure he is in my power, I bend his head to the side, sinking my fangs into his soft flesh. The warm, iron taste of Sam’s blood gushes into my mouth, sliding down my throat. It takes only moments to drink enough to slake my thirst, but not enough to take his life. Make no mistake, I’m not innocent. I’ve taken life before on several occasions and even enjoyed it. Just because we try to avoid killing doesn’t mean we aren’t monsters. We are monsters, we just like to keep a low profile.

After I release Sam, Annie comes over, taking his arm. Both men are still in la-la land. Annie will lead them a few blocks away where they will come to, having no idea what happened. Judging by the way Sam tasted, they were three sheets to the wind a while ago. They will, no doubt, attribute their disorientation to being drunk and call it a night. Everyone wins.

Annie comes back, dropping her lovely self onto the plush velvet sofa.

“Ok, spill,” she says.

I perch on the loveseat. “I saw him, Annie. I saw Julien.” No point in beating around the bush.

“Come again? Julien, the legendary lover from your past? That Julien?” She thinks I’ve finally lost it.

“He’s the one. I locked eyes with him not twenty minutes ago on the riverfront. He was on a film set.”

“Mills, my love. He died, right? You saw him murdered right in front of you. Are you positive it was the same man? I mean, it’s been over two hundred years. Maybe it was just someone who resembles Julien.”

This is exactly what I need to hear. Thank you, Annie, for being the voice of reason.

“I don’t know the answer, and no, I never saw Julien’s body. It could be a strong resemblance, or he could be a descendant of Julien’s. There’s also the possibility, it is him. You and I have certainly witnessed some pretty strange things over the centuries. Look at us, we exist. I can’t just leave this alone.” I give her the best sad eyes I can muster.

Annie bites her lip and looks at the floor. This is what she always does when she is considering her options. It’s adorable, and she knows it.

“Ok, the first thing we have to do is get you in front of this guy,” she finally says.

This is one of the many amazing things about Annie. I can count on her to step up to the plate. But, before Annie can come up with a plan, I slam my face into the palm of my hand.

“Something you want to share, Mills?”

“Alexandre is on a mission to score with the star of this movie. I think her name is Kathryn Hart?”

“Yep, that sounds like Alexandre. And, of course he will.”

“Exactly. When has Alexandre never succeeded at winning a conquest? He may be my best shot at meeting mystery guy face to face,” I reason.

As if on cue, my phone buzzes. I put it to my ear.

“I know you hate it when I talk through your head. There is no way this guy is who you think he is.”

“Alexandre,” I sigh.

“Just a minute. I was going to add I’ve made the acquaintance of the ravishing Ms. Hart. She and her friends have been invited to our home tomorrow night for cocktails. In case you need help figuring it out, one of her friends is what’s his name. I admit the resemblance is troubling, but it can only be coincidence.”

“Alexandre, you are my favorite male-endowed vampire. And it isn’t troubling, it’s exciting.”

“Uh-huh.”

“Don’t be grumpy.”

“I’m just hoping that one day you will get over this foolishness and look who’s talking. The guy seems like kind of a snob, which I know you hate. Hopefully, he treats you like garbage, so we can finally put the ghost of Julien to rest.”

“Gee, thanks dad.”

I hit end and toss my phone on the table. Alexandre hates it when I call him dad. Which is exactly why I do it whenever he makes me angry.

“What was that about?” asks Annie politely, even though she heard Alexandre’s every word.

“Our maker is bringing over some playmates tomorrow,” I say, winking.

“Leave it to the brawny Frenchman to score so quickly. Is one of these so-called playmates the guy you want to play with?” she asks, raising an eyebrow.

“Yes, Ma’am. What are your plans for the rest of the night?” I ask.

“My plan is to make sure you have a kick-ass outfit all ready to go for tomorrow’s party.”

After Annie leaves me for the night, I settle into the silky, white sheets of my decadent four-poster bed. After today’s revelations, it would be impossible not to think of the past. Thoughts and images buried long ago struggle to the surface. Most are not pleasant to reconsider, although there were glimmers of light and hope.

***

Winter 1772, Burgundy Region, France

Our wedding night is spent at an inn, halfway to my new home. I blame my shaking on the cold, but in truth, I feel like I could be sick. I met Charles only once before today. He is handsome enough, a tall man with chestnut hair, hazel eyes, and only a slight paunch. Underneath the well-groomed exterior, I sense a severe personality which makes me nervous.

“I’ll step out while you undress and get into bed. Try to be quick, I’m tired.”

There is nothing I can do but follow his instructions.

Taking deep breaths and trying not to vomit, I unbutton my black cloak. Folding it neatly, I place it on the chair next to the plain, wooden bed. I step out of my blue satin travelling gown and place it in the same manner on top of my cloak. I remain in my cream-colored silk shift, and climb under the covers, pulling them up to my chin.

Mercifully, it is over quickly and with only a little pain. Charles is mostly gentle, but he makes no attempt to inspire any passion in me.

“We will make lovely children,” he murmurs, before rolling off me and falling asleep. I think about being used as a vessel, night after night, and cry myself softly to sleep.

The dream opens outside a grand chateau, three times the size of my father’s. In the light of the full moon, I can make out the creamy yellow tint of stone, and French blue shutters. The length of the building seems to go on forever. I can’t help but marvel at the rows upon rows of windows.

Oddly, I feel comfortable. I know where I am and feel no fear. I turn automatically, walking toward a path. The path is barely visible, at the very edge of the grounds, leading into the forest. I stop, peering into the dense wood. This is the way, I know it.

I walk for almost an hour. Just when I think the path will go on and on, it abruptly ends.

Before me is a small clearing with a tiny stone cabin in the center. Smoke creeps from the chimney. Cords of firewood sit, stacked under the front window. As I move toward the rounded, wooden door, it opens. Stepping into the doorway is Jupiter, the Roman God. At least, that’s who I fancy he is. I see him perfectly in the moonlight, which glints off his crystal clear, blue eyes. He is very tall and muscular, with shoulder length, honey-blond hair. His eyes should be cold, but they are warm and full of love.

Jupiter opens his arms. I run into them, bursting into tears.

“I know, my child. Cry all you like. You are safe and loved, just wait, wait,” he says, softly against my hair. He holds me, gently swaying us back and forth.

“Wait for what?”

“To come away with me.”

“Why must I wait? I’m ready now. Please don’t make me go back,” I whisper into his shirt, now wet with my tears.

“Not yet, you are still too young.”

I pull away, starting to feel angry, “I’m not too young to be married and bear the children of a man I despise.”

“In my mind, you are certainly too young to bear children. I have something for you.”

Jupiter disappears into the dark recess of the cabin, leaving me on the stoop. Returning, he places a small cloth bag in my hand.

“This is a tea. Brew a cup and drink it every time your husband leaves your bed. It will prevent him from getting a child in you. Hide it well.”

I grip the bag, greedily, “How will I get more?”

“I will replenish it. You needn’t worry. You are special, Millicent. I will be watching, don’t be afraid.”

I wake with a start from the dream feeling warm, like a child stepping out of her father’s loving embrace. An embrace, I just now felt for the first time. In my hand is the cloth bag. It is natural that it should be there. I slip soundlessly from the bed and tuck it into the back of my jewelry case.