Fan Fiction ❯ Daughter of Venus - the Vampire Rosaline ❯ Be brave * ( Chapter 2 )

2

A

fter revelations in Paris we took an overnight flight to JFK, New York. The city was an old haunt of Armand's it was explained to me but plain and waning, I paid no attention as I slipped in and out of the crowded ballroom streets, the odoriferous scents of blood dancing and promenading the power they had over a starved mind.

We resided the day contentedly in Saint Patrick's. Well when I say we I mean Armand, in his element with the divinely beautiful and the resplendently religious he appeared to be quite the stolen angel - corrupted by darkness but freed by magnitude.

As the night-time mocked my demonstration Armand bravely strutted the most squalid of Harlem streets, shunning abuse and mockery to find an easy meal. Still and obstinately considerate towards me he even ventured to bring back to our crypt a tasty, young morsel of a creature. Like a mahogany carving she stood with a lacklustre expression but I felt her tainted wonder; tainted as she was not brought here on free will alone.

Her chocolate skin was finely melted over a honeycomb skeleton with the syrup blood oozing deliciously around her sweet frame. With her finely platted hair beaded but swinging still around her neck and her gentle bones curving out from under her skin she seemed to embody her matriarchal home. That was truly Armand - in search of artistic perfection.

She stepped forward naïvely and looked down at me with curiosity - obviously it had not been revealed to her the reason for her journey. I lay on the dirty, cold floor that had been scattered with relics, for as far as I was concerned I should join them.

Meeting her fresh gaze I felt no hunger for this noble sacrifice and so rolled over, instantly coating myself in ashes. I wanted none of this but to hide myself away in this historical tomb.

I felt Armand move up behind her, doing so he asked; "Does the Lady Rosaline not find it to her liking?"

I closed my eyes and said slowly, "Don't mock me."

Armand replied, "You do well yourself," then after a pause he continued, "I thought young girls were your pleasure."

Consumed with a growing anger that had been with me since leaving Veronica alive I finally erupted, scrambling to my feet and hissed baring my canines for full display, "Maybe innocent children are more to your taste!"

The girl's vacant composure faltered for a moment and I laughed at the irony of the situation but calmly Armand put an ashen hand on her shoulder and whispered sweetly into her ear. She nodded and once again stood calm. I knew this display of bravery was not her own.

"Scream, cry, run, faint, shiver, do something! You should be afraid of me!" I shouted as the girl stared back deafly. Distressed I tugged at her arm and jerked her away from her rooted position.

Pulling viciously I fixed my gaze, "Would you be more willing to show it if I ripped your arm off?"

I saw the girl's eyes quiver but still she remained resilient. Saving my anger I shut my eyelids and drew in my strength. I searched deep down inside of her reaching beyond what she could control to find the reason for this exhibition but all I came up with were doors bolted with iron locks. I could hear the thudding of heart beats entwined and caught only scattered words from broken sentences…be brave…be strong…give life…be eternal…

Pushing the girl away I advanced on Armand, growling; "You! It's you doing this."

Armand stood and smiled angelically.

Snarling I challenged him, "What did you say to her?"

I flung Armand towards the girl, knocking them both down in fury and finally releasing his hold upon the child.

Crying the girl knelt concealing her face so as not to watch as I screamed wildly at Armand, "What did you promise I would do to her?"

Beckoning to the innocent Armand held out open arms.

Weeping earnestly she buried her head into the folds of Armand's shirt as he cooed gently to her, "Don't worry my dear, it will be over soon."

"Oh sure, tell her that! You really are Shakespeare's serpent under the flower!" I shrieked.

Stooping I spoke to the child sarcastically like an old adversary, "Yeah well good luck, he'll look after you."

Turning her to face me Armand pushed an arm around the girl's chest and tilted her head onto one side. Placing a chin over her shoulder he purred gently through the gap into her ear but looked at me with a demonic smirk, "I will send you back to your family now. Would you like that?"

She nodded, wearily.

"I don't believe this," I muttered as Armand shut the girl's eyelids and sniffed her flesh. Then turning around, tossing my head and folding my arms I pretended to ignore what next happened.

Shuddering I shivered as I heard the piercing of flesh, the desperate crying, the ecstatic laughter and the final, inert, groaning slump.

When all was silent I was unsure of what gruesome sight would great me if I turned around, so I remained for a few moments. However curiosity wreathed my body and I could no longer bear the uncertainty. I had no concept of what I would see; a blood bath, dull staring eyes, pale shrivelled corpse…I knew it should be none of these as I had spent a week of fantastical even exquisite killing with Armand; she would be sleeping like a baby in his arms.

When I looked at Armand he radiated delight and throwing the girl's corpse down he cried, "That was beautiful!"

"Killing isn't beautiful."…Hypocrite.

Armand continued to glow, "You were beautiful!"

"I don't feel beautiful," I muttered.

Armand's excitement level grew, "When you threatened to rip off her arm I saw a new side of you!"

I tossed my head, "I would never have done it…" I then contemplated his compliment, "…you will not be seeing that side of me again."

"Ah," Armand argued playfully, "but ever since I came I have been seeing little snippets of her."

I threw my hands up, "Then you are a bad influence!"

Armand started, regaining some control after the kill had subsided, "What have we learnt from this experience?"

I sneered, "We have learnt that Armand is a liar…and I hate this life! You know what? I hate you!"

"Contemptuous child! " Armand spat at our attack on his personality, moving towards me viciously; "I am not a liar!"

"Stop it," I shrieked clenching a fist, "why must you keep calling me a child?"

"Because you are!" Armand snapped catching my hand.

"I am not!" I screeched.

"Then stop acting like one!" he snarled in return.

"You don't know what it was like!" I cried selfishly.

"You don't think I've ever lost anyone?" Armand slowly questioned with shock.

Armand grumbled and began to rant like he had done in Venice and as he had done before that in London, "That is it! Tomorrow evening we continue our journey to New Orleans! You obviously do not deserve the culture that lies in this city!"

Armand's grasp slipped down to my wrist and despite being a vampire he still could push me around as if I was a mere mortal.

"We will go and meet my family," Armand said hysterically, "and you can meet my master," he then narrowed his eyes begrudgingly, "and insults like that will not be taken so lightly."

I wrinkled my nose and snarled exposing my fangs, "I am so afraid!"

Armand looked upon me coyly, "You should be."

Like Armand had predicted the next evening we set off for New Orleans leaving the girl's body to rot in the crypt. She might have been found, I did not know and for the first time in a fortnight I did not care. I decided it would be an honour for her - to be the first of her American lineage to lie with nobility. I settled my mind that it would be an even greater honour for her family, most of whom would never have been on such pious and elevated ground. What lies I spun. No matter how grand the tomb it was a tomb all the same and she was dead before her time…like they all seem to be these days.

Oh listen to me! I already sound like I have lived a century or so. More like a week or two…

I do not know why I felt so guilty; I was not even the one to kill the girl but still I took her demise upon my soul. I was a vampire so should no longer care but still I was dominated by a weak, human sentiment. I was no longer part of them and had to detach myself as a butcher would from his livestock. But I was not like him and I knew it would not be long before Armand finally cast me aside, the way he should have the first time we met. That first time should have been our last, when he should have sunk those precisely carved and terrifyingly alluring teeth into my fresh and prime skin. Instead he prolonged my agony with some naïve thought that being part of his coven would bring to me a part of life I had never once owned, or cared to know.

I was often told along my journey that Armand was the kind of person to hate. Whether I would at that specific time it was not to matter, it would happen…at some point - he had even told me so from some deep, archived experience I was not yet ready to share. They said he was an angel and a devil, spend five minutes with the guy and you would hate the bugger henceforth. Well I had spent more than my mandatory five minutes with him and do not hate Armand; well at least I do not think I do. We do seem to have more than our fair share of `discussions' though.

Gosh I hate the word `discussion'! Arguments, rows, quarrels, contentions, rumpus! Whatever you want to call them we had had them all! And about anything! I must admit I do enjoy the odd debate - it is healthy for one's soul and had only been on petty matters. But this was life and death. It is a constant struggle to remind myself that school is out forever. At the end of the summer holidays is…well…an extended summer holiday. I had been lucky as I had been given a second chance but was still awarded an F on the scale of success. For my incredible third chance I was determined that I must try harder.

But back to arguments…

That previous night had taken any life that might have formerly existed out of me. The trip must have only have taken a few minutes but I, cradled in the arms of my distressed angel as we quite literally flew to New Orleans felt the hunger grow and grow.

What he had said to me had finally come home, as I was dragged along prostrate by my Armand. He had been so incredibly patient but time and time again I pulled him up and then pushed him away. I deserved to be left to wallow in my self-pity and indecision. I just hoped there was a reason for my dilemma and that maybe such a diverse family (as described to me by Armand) would hold the answer. But the thought of those vampires also panicked me. This was one lesson that Armand had finally installed upon me successfully, respect your elders. Armand was just over 500 years old and compared to them he was relatively young. That is a long time to be thought of as inexperienced! What if I was to say something idiotic again and just infuriate them all? Then I would definitely have no where to go…if I was to survive such a confrontation.

We had arrived at the vampire's nest - a huge quixotic cathedral and nunnery. From the exterior it seemed a run down, forgotten building. The once cherished stained-glass windows lay broken, throughout the centuries destroyed by the odd anti-Catholic Luddite or Ku Klux Klan-er and had not been replaced but for the boarded up Gothic arches. And before me was the reminiscence of a slate roofing tile that must have slid and shattered in a hurricane or maybe even gentle storm.

I freed myself from Armand's grip and attempted to trot through the graveyard but rather clumsily picked my way, stunned by the scenery. A chipped angel seemed to wave and smile at me through a coating of moss and water stain. She was bright and joyful despite her attire and placement, with wings of once expensive marble shadowing the rambling weeded grass and all she surveyed. I shuddered and returned to Armand as he guarded me under his own foreboding wing.

We reached the giant oaken door, solid but creaky with centuries of use under its hinges. Armand wrapped upon the colossus monument to carpenters angrily, waiting impatiently for it to open. In his absence of mind Armand had neglected the bronze gargoyle knocker, a miniature of the many stony faced scowling creatures that protected this vampiric paradise.

Armand led me as far as a great hall, the main annex of the cathedral, leaving me to be diminished by a majestically chiselled arch of cherubim and martyrs as he took to the altar where a man lay spread upon the intricately tiled floor before a giant crucifix.

Armand knelt before the body and took a hand, "Lestat?"

I turned away, trying not to listen in, this seemed to be a private and quite meaningful conversation if a little one sided.

Further on I saw a man endeavouring to use a photocopier machine, an object a little bizarre to be seen as part of a religious landscape. Though on closer inspection it appeared to be plugged into a rickety 1940s socket - probably from the same generator that illuminated the entire building if not for the candles.

I walked up to him to see if I could lend a hand.

"I am attempting to photocopy on the other side of the paper," the man whispered as though it were a precise experiment. An experiment I had seen taken place many times before at school.

Ah my old life, how I miss you. Despite living in a decidedly small village my school was up with the best of them when it came to technology. I myself held pride in owning a computer with a modem, a CD player and a mobile telephone with text messaging facilities. Though you may sneer at these to me they meant the world. Now, to think of it I can collect all the technology I want, nothing can hold me back or be held back from me, I am what you mortals might call invincible…well nearly. But what I gave up for such a gift. If I could just return for one day to tell my friends and family how it happened I would never return to them then after. Now I dare say I should never return for what I might do or express because of the mayhem I have already caused in London. No, I had never been that good at interrelations.

Still we stood, standing above the machine in awe.

"What is it for?" I asked.

The man put a finger to his tanned lips - "Hush…I am writing a book, it must be sent off and I need a copy."

"Where did you get the copier from?" I continued inquisitively.

"Hush," the man repeated, "I must try this."

With his left hand the man rested on the cover of the machine, crossing his fingers hopefully, whist using the right he pressed a pale blue button on the grey panel. I stood obediently as the machine whirred on, there was a grinding sound and the green warning light flickered red. The intensity of such an absurd moment finally overcame me and I let a giggle escape from my loose lips.

"Don't laugh!" the man cried with despair as he broke into the paper tray, ripping out the piece of ink stained crumpled paper that blocked the gears.

"Who are you anyway?" he asked, screwing up the paper even more and then throwing it onto the ground, "Don't you know young girls should watch their backs in places such as this!"

"I…I…er…I…" stepping back I remembered where I was though I should not have been afraid.

"She's with me," Armand swooped in behind me, seemingly from nowhere, grasping at my shoulders.

Armand stepped between us and bowed in playful contempt at the chestnut coloured man, "David."

"Armand?" the man named David exclaimed in surprise, "So this is the reason you ran away from us…however it looks as though all you have found is another trouble."

I frowned, thank you for the compliment.

"I never run away…haven't you finish my story yet?" Armand replied wittily, "During all this procrastination it might become a sequel and…it seems all you have found is…" Armand paused dramatically, "how to get ink on your hands."

Touché!

Armand smiled cruelly as David examined his palms.

More seriously Armand made a bid to enter into conversation, "How is Lestat?"

"He still hasn't budged."

Only now, when he was talking without the whisper or the anger did I notice David's English accent.

"Oh, poor spoiled Lestat!" Armand cried in reply about an obviously dear friend.

Lestat, I thought, his name had been mentioned before…was he the male lying by the holy cross? "Where is Lestat?" I only knew of one man by that name.

David pointed to the man. Good.

Lestat owned a full head of blonde, curly hair, which fell to just above his shoulders. Stretched Lestat seemed to span a full six foot and as he lay upon the floor the cold, emerald marble offset his pale skin to beyond ivory. That was all I could describe of the vampire Lestat though as his back was turned on me as he slouched in eternal slumber. Of course like all teenagers of the present day I was fully aware of the rock idol Lestat. And now I was the only one to know where had hidden himself! Maybe later I would ask for his autograph…

"How old is he?" I questioned.

Armand sighed, "Too old to act so young."

"Okay then, why is he lying there?" - I worried that I would never get Lestat's signature, "Is he sleeping? He looks like he's been there for an awful long time!" I exaggerated.

"I'd hardly say that," Armand took it upon himself to enlighten me, "he lies and cannot be woken, maybe he's in contemplation, I do not know. Despite that such behaviour is not within his character and so he worries me but there is nothing that I can do for him, not now…"

"There is nothing that any of us can do," David continued kindly.

"So don't you go thinking that you can!" Armand said angrily, once again tugging at my arm, "We did not come here for the enjoyment of idle gossip!"

"Why did you come back, Armand?" David continued.

"I grow tired," Armand sighed, "and yet I still must not rest."