Abyss Pt. 01

Mandy's face starts to turn red. "How do you know that?"

Because I was the Chevalier. The vampire that turned me knew I sympathized and forced me to be his spy.

"The family records of the de Vaudemont family have his letters to his siblings. He bragged about his actions and they, having republican leanings, cut him off."

That was me removing any ties I had to my humanity. They could never know.

"Furthermore," I go on, "The Archives Nationales hold a number of records confirming this." I tell her exactly where those records can be found.

Ms. Richardson's reaction is a surprise. She slams her notebook closed, snatches up her book bag and storms out of the classroom. The Court follows in her wake. Christy, her sub, looks frightened. I feel sorry for her. She shouldn't suffer on my behalf.

I can't help but wonder at Ms. Richardson's behavior. As the people here in America say, "What is her problem?"

Even though all I see is movement in my peripheral vision I know at once it is Diane. Her scan of the restaurant meets my turning towards her in perfect synchronicity. She speaks to the maitre d' and he leads her towards the table I've reserved for us.

I rise to greet her, then pull out her chair. Once she's seated I sit as well.

"Thanks for the invitation, Georges," my redheaded dinner companion tells me with a warm smile. "I'd been hoping I'd hear from you again. I really enjoyed that night."

"Moi aussi. It was a most enjoyable evening. I wanted to repeat it."

Diane looks around. "I didn't expect this place. It looks like you've got money a visiting instructor usually doesn't have."

"My books do well. So I can indulge a beautiful woman once in a while."

That garners me another warm smile, so warm that I feel it all the way through my body. It's a strange sensation. Since I am dead usually I feel cold. This is a very pleasant change. The sommelier approaches and hands each of us a wine list. "You pick something you like, Diane." I pause, worried about what I'll say next. I can't eat any human food. It sits in my stomach until it rots. But I'd thought ahead and have an excuse ready. "I won't be able to partake I'm afraid."

She looks at me with a puzzled frown. "You were drinking last week."

"Courtesy. I hadn't actually drank any of it. But it wouldn't be polite not to buy a drink in an establishment such as that."

She ponders that for a moment. "May I ask why you can't?"

"Of course. It's not a big secret. I've a very rare genetic disorder. Among the various effects is a gastrointestinal problem, reflux. Anything I eat or drink will force acid into my throat. It's most painful. There is very little I can eat and I have to cook it myself. I've found restaurants have difficulty preparing the food I can consume. Even a bit of contamination and I get to spend some uncomfortable days."

Diane spends another moment pondering. "Okay," she says. "I'll remember that. If you're ever over to my place for dinner I'll ask for tips on how to cook for you."

She blinks then, and blushes a little. "That didn't mean what it sounded like."

I chuckle. "I don't know what it sounded like except good."

The lovely lady across from me smiles at that and buries her head in the wine list. She orders a small carafe of the house wine finally and decides on filet mignon for dinner. "You're buying after all."

Our meal together is a reprise of our night at the pub. Our conversation wanders from subject to subject. We have differing views but neither takes that as a personal insult. At one point she makes an observation that causes me to chuckle, and my hand goes across the table to squeeze hers.

There's an odd moment, when time freezes. Both of us look at our hands clasped together. Her eyes rise at the same instant mine do and we smile the same smile.

That sudden frisson ends and I pull my hand back. "Pardonez moi, cher. I didn't mean to be so forward."

"I liked it, Georges. I'm not offended."

That smile shows on both our faces again.

Our meal goes on. It strikes me, how strange this is. This isn't a hunt for I have not the slightest intention of feeding upon Diane. In fact, I don't even feel like a vampire. For the first time in over century I simply feel like a man.

We linger over coffee and brandy, at my suggestion. Diane hasn't ever had the pleasure of the two together after dinner. She finds it a wonderful complement to her meal. Our conversation continues its meandering course and it's a surprise to us when the waiter asks us to pay our bill for the restaurant will close soon.

Once done that I rise and help Diane from her chair. Then I help her into her jacket. I crook my elbow and she puts her hand in it. Together we leave the restaurant.

"May I escort you home, chérie?"

"You may." She dimples at me. "I like that you are so formally courteous, Georges, and what does chérie mean?"

"It's the way I was raised, chér. My family is very minor nobility in Alsace. We keep to the old ways a lot." That's true, if two centuries out of date. "Chérie means 'sweet' or 'dear.' Although correctly I should be saying 'mon chérie' which means 'my sweet.' I like the simpler sound though."

"So do I," she replies as she lightly squeezes my forearm.

So we start strolling in the direction of her apartment. The night is cool, on the edge of cold, and clear. At this hour the streets are nearly empty and the silence is a type of music. It's the type of night I've always loved. The lovely woman on my arm adds to that feeling.

As we go I ask about her family. Diane is an only child, born and raised on a farm in Mississippi. "I loved the place," she tells me, "but I also had to leave. Can't say why. I just felt I was meant to be somewhere else." She went to university in New York getting a B.A. in history and an M.A. in library science. She'd taken the job at the university here a decade ago and had stayed in it. "It's not the place I'm looking for, but I feel it might be a step towards it. I can't explain why."

"Perhaps," I note, "you're waiting for some one rather than some place."

She glances up and her eyes are warm. "Could be." Diane looks forward and says, "Oh, shit." Her voice is both resigned and annoyed.

I follow her gaze to note another woman heading towards us. Taller than Diane but shorter than me she has a blocky build. Her hair is very short and she glowers at us. A smell of rum, cheap rum, precedes her.

"We're done, Wendy," Diane tells her when the sturdy woman is several steps away. "So get lost."

Wendy looks at me with a stare so venomous that if I weren't already dead I'd leave the ranks of the living. "This is who you left me for? A man? And a skinny fuck at that?"

The lady on my arm sighs. "I didn't leave you for anybody. I just left you. I'm not property and you treated me like I was."

The mannish woman snarls. "You kept forcing me to put my foot down. If you'd done what you were told I wouldn't have had to get forceful."

That statement slams into my mind and that dark part of me rises. You do not treat some one as sweet as Diane this way!

"Pardonez moi," I interject. "If Mademoiselle Patterson doesn't wish to speak with you I would strongly suggest you cease talking with her." My ire thickens my words so that they come close to a growl.

"Piss off, Frog!" Wendy snarls. She makes a phlegmy sound and purses her mouth to spit at me. That glob of mucus never emerges. The short haired woman chokes on it. Her eyes go wide and she squeaks in terror. A broad stain appears on the front of her jeans. The next instant she is running as fast as she can away from me.

A similar gurgle of fear sounds from the lady at my elbow. I turn to look at her and she is white as horror pushes all the blood from her face. She starts to back away from me.

I realize I've let my mask slip. Diane sees exactly what I am. Of all the people in the world she is the last one I want to know the truth about me.

So I look into her eyes and grab her will. Unusually, she struggles against me for a moment. Diane has a strong mind. I must be careful.

"You only saw me very, very angry," I tell her. "Angry enough to murder. But nothing else." That should work. It's mostly the truth.

I let her go and she gasps. That's followed by a couple of quick blinks then her head turns away from me as a touch and worry creases her forehead.

"Milles pardon, Ms. Patterson. I'm so sorry I lost my temper. It doesn't happen often but I'm afraid it's very bad when it does."

Her perturbed look disappears, for the most part.

"Come," I tell her. "I promised to escort you home." I try to smile but can't quite do it. I turn back to the direction we were traveling. I don't extend my elbow to her. I'm afraid she might not take it.

Diane follows half a step behind me, not quite at my side.

Before we've gone thirty steps though, I feel her take my arm.

The relief that washes through me is enormous. I turn my head to smile at Diane and she answers it.

"Sorry, Georges. You've been such a calm person the short time I've known you seeing you that angry really threw me."

"I'm sorry I let that woman get to me. You're quite capable of defending yourself and I should have kept my chivalry to myself."

She squeezes my arm and laughs. "I found it rather flattering. As a Southern girl I like a man that looks after his woman."

We both go blank at that, and look forward. It's been a very long time since I had a woman.

We're silent for a while then. The only noise is our light footfalls and the whisper of wind in the trees that line the street.

"Aren't you going to ask about Wendy?" the redhead on my arm inquires.

"It's none of my business," I reply. "I'll listen when you want to talk though."

"You're not disappointed?"

I look at her and say with all seriousness, "I only wished to spend an evening with a lovely woman regardless of her sexuality. In that, I was not disappointed." I can feel a little something at this discovery though, deep inside, too faint to name it but it's not pleasant.

In five more minutes we're in front of her building. She lets me go and we face one another.

"Bon nuit, chér. I had a wonderful time." I take her hand, raise it and brush a kiss across her knuckles.

"I did too, Georges." She steps towards me, goes on tiptoes and kisses my cheek.

For an instant she's pressed against me, and a thrill shoots through my body. I stiffen at the experience of it. Diane goes just as stiff.

The beautiful lady steps back and blinks at me. Surprise shows in her eyes.

My eyes show the same befuddlement.

Diane takes another step back. "Well, good night, Georges." A shy smile creeps onto her mouth. "We'll have to do it again."

"Yes, we will." My smile is warm. I can tell for I've faked them so many times. This one however, is real.

My dinner companion enters her building and waves at me through the glass of the door.

I return it and head on my way.

The smile I last showed her doesn't leave my face.

Ten minutes into the class and the door to the room opens. Mandy and her court troop into the room then take seats or stand according to the unspoken hierarchy.

I have had enough of this.

After a second of staring at them I announce, "If you are not on the class list, please leave. You are distracting the students who are here to learn. Since the only people on that list are Ms. Richardson and Ms. Coburn the rest of you can go somewhere else."

Every member of The Court blinks at me and then looks at Ms. Richardson. The focus of their attention glares at my action. "There's no school rules about students attending a class they aren't signed up for."

"A school rule? No. My own rules? Yes." I have to struggle a little to keep my control from slipping. That part of me that lives in darkness can't stand having someone intrude on its territory. But I think driving my irritation home by ripping one of Ms. Richardson's arms off would attract attention. "These, hangers on, of yours are distracting. I make my classes as difficult as possible and distractions mean my pupils won't be at their best. So any one not in this class leaves now." The last sentence carries my displeasure at Ms. Richardson's actions.

Ms. Coburn gasps and turns a little white. But the way she looks at me shows it's not herself she frightened for. It's me.

For several long moments Mandy and I stare at each other. Finally she sits back and says, "Fine!" She waves her hand imperiously and her courtiers file out of the room.

As they do Ms. Richardson shows me an expectant smile. The predatory gleam in her eyes makes me wonder what she is going to do next.

"Bon soir, cher," I say into the receiver of the phone when Diane picks up.

"Bon soir, chere," she replies. "It's nice to hear from you. Thanks again for such a lovely dinner. I've been thinking about it a lot."

"As have I." I pause for a second, and draw a deep breath. It's been a very long time indeed since I did what I want to do next. "Would you like to accompany me to a university function?"

There's silence from the other end. It can't be long but it seems like forever. Strange, since at over two centuries of age I have different perspective of 'a long time.' But I'm...anxious...for Diane's answer.

"Yeah, I would," she says just as I'm about to apologize for being forward. "What did you have in mind?"

I let out the breath I've been holding, another strange thing for me as I don't breathe. "I've been invited to a faculty party. These things are usually very dull and I know you would help alleviate that boredom."

"So that's the only reason I'm invited? To amuse you?" The words are light and followed with a tinkling laugh.

I chuckle back. "That's one of the reasons, but not the most important one."

"Oh," she whispers. There's another moment of silence that again seems long. "I'd love to, Georges."

"Merci, Diane. I'll pick you up about nine this Saturday."

"How formal is this?" she asks.

"Not very. Wear what you like."

"I'll see you then."

"Until then."

I see Diane waiting outside of her building. An odd feeling twists in my stomach at the sight of her. She's made some effort to look good, and she's succeeded. Her slacks and blouse just nudge the edge between comfortable and formal. She looks very beautiful.

I guide the car I've rented towards her, and hear a 'crump' as I bounce the front wheel off the curb.

Diane enters the car, laughing. "I get the impression you don't drive much, do you, Georges?"

"It's a skill I learned late in life." In the 1920's when I was over one hundred and thirty years old. "I don't drive often enough to keep it sharp."

"Why did you rent it? We don't have far to go and we could walk."

"We'll be standing for several hours at least. I believe we'll be glad of the car when we return."

She smiles. "That's good thinking." A stern frown appears on her face, but the light in her eyes tells me she's being anything but serious. "But I'm driving. I'd like to get there and back."

I chuckle as I undo my seatbelt. "Merci, cher. I have no objections."

Once we've changed places it's ten minutes drive to Draught Hall, or Drafty Hall as it's known around campus, the pseudo-Georgian building meant for the gatherings like the one we're attending. There are faculty offices on the second and third floor but mostly it is a public space. Although there is plenty of parking outside of it, Diane has to drive a bit before we find a spot. We must be just about the last ones here.

Once parked we join arms and head for the front door. Then it's a short walk down a hall and we enter the main room. We can hear the susurrus of many people talking well before we enter.

We are indeed pretty much the last guests to arrive. The room is already crowded and hot. I look at the lovely woman accompanying me and we have the same look.This might not be a good idea.

"On the other hand," I say to her, "you never know what will happen."

"True," Diane replies. "So let's look around."

We snag a couple of glasses of wine and start to circulate. The department head who hired me flags us down and we converse for few minutes. Then we encounter Diane's boss. I'm pigeonholed by a couple of the History faculty who ask me how I find such obscure references to historical events. I use my standard excuse of my noble family's archives. The truth is that I saved those newspapers, magazines or university papers centuries ago. But they can't know that. We start discussing events of the 19th Century and to my absolute lack of surprise Diane has much to add to our conversation. I find I have a somewhat befuddled smile on my face as I listen to her. The most marvellous warmth fills my chest as I listen to her. More and more it seems I've found a piece of myself I hadn't known was missing from my existence.

"Georges! I'm so glad you could make it!"

I turn to the familiar voice. Dr. Helen Metaxas is the Dean here. She'd welcomed me personally when I first arrived, and took it with good grace when I'd refused to use a guest house provided by the university. It was too large for me and I chose instead a small cottage on the outskirts of town.

"Bon soir, Helen. Things seem to be going well." We lean forward to kiss each other's cheeks. "These things always do," she responds. "People from different departments get to know each other, and sometimes great things happen."

"Indeed," I reply. "Cross pollination has done great things in the past."

"You explored that in your second book." The Dean cocks her head. "You must have written that very young. I thought you were around forty and you wrote that thirty years ago."

I sigh inside at that. I see I'm going to have to disappear soon and lie low for a while. "My people tend not to show their age. I'm far closer to fifty than I am to forty." Which is true, just not the way she'll take it.

A man emerges from the crowd around us, places his arms around Helen's waist and kisses her neck. The contrast between them is remarkable. Dr. Metaxas is Amazonian in build and dressed like the powerful woman she is. Richard, her husband, looks like the tweedy intellectual he is, right down to the leather patches on the elbows of his jacket.

"Bon soir, Richard."

"Good evening, Georges."

"So, what do you think of our little school?" he goes on.

"I like it a great deal. It's also brought me a rather great surprise." I place my hand over Diane's, where it rests on my elbow, turn and smile at her.

"I see," says Helen. There is a warm chuckle in her voice. "Would you mind introducing her?"

"Of course. Dean and Professor Metaxas, allow me to introduce Diane Patterson."

"Oh yes. I thought I recognized you," the Dean remarks. "The chief archivist has a lot of good things to say about your work."

"Thank you, Dr. Metaxas," my lovely lady replies. "He's a good person to work for and very fair."

Richard interrupts by kissing his wife's cheek. "Excuse me, dear. I promised some time with a couple of my colleagues."

Helen laughs. "You mean you want to start that poker game in that room on the third floor."

"Something like that," he grins back.

"Don't lose too much money." They share a quick, hot kiss and Richard heads off.

"He doesn't care much for these sort of affairs," the Dean tells me as watches him go. There is a fond smile on her face, very similar to the one I see on Diane's features when she looks at me.

That gives me a moment's mental pause. That and the way my own facial muscles start to echo her expression. I shouldn't feel this way. Diane's only human and she can't get too close. I'm too dangerous to her.