Writing Wednesday - Parisian Nightlife

Welcome back, everybody.

We've reached your next Writing Wednesday, and today I wanted to share yet another piece from a project that has been on the back burner for a while. This story is part of a short story collection I began around the time I fell in love with the imagery of plague doctors.

Following my flash fiction piece, The Plague Demon of Prague, I started fleshing out the universe a little. I turned the plague doctor therein into a member of a larger order of men and women dedicated to combating the vampire menace, collectively called The Scourge.

Considering these stories take place in the early 1600s, the prominence of many female warriors was delightful to write. After all, who would suspect that a woman in that time could fend off supernatural horrors with the best of them?

In this story, the main character is one of the highest ranking members of this vampire hunting order's Paris branch. I wanted to show her, as a middle-aged woman in the upper reaches of society, as still being a fighter. On top of that, I decided to strip her of the usual compliment of battle gear that she and her people are used to having on hand. So, she's at a party for the Parisian aristocracy, without her leather coat and plague mask, or the great majority of her weaponry.

So, please enjoy only the second story from this collection to see the light of day at this point.

========================================================================

Parisian Nightlife

M.R. Wallace

I still cannot believe I have been talked into this nonsense. Walking through the door I feel completely naked. My evening gown certainly has many of the amenities of my coat. But I am walking into a gala attended by hundreds without the benefit of my mask, most of my equipment, or even a decent blade. As consolation, I have received a double-barreled pistol hidden in my garter and a long, needle thin blade tucked into my boot. Add to that my “battle dress,” a ball gown in the latest Parisian style subtly reinforced throughout with lightweight chain. My heart is dancing to a rhythm much faster than the music playing inside. I approach the double doors, glowing with merriment from within. I hand the invitation to the doorman.

“Madame Vedetta Lacoste.” He announces my arrival. A few polite heads turn to take me in. Even at fifty-three years of age, I am what most would call spry. Many believe me to be party to dozens of scandals throughout polite French society. Fortunately, they do not know the half of it. Whispers accompany me as I descend the grand staircase to the ballroom floor.

I carry my evening gown like a lady, its coppery fabric magnificently reflecting the autumn leaves outside. I would still prefer my brown leather plague coat and black mask. I retrieve the requisite champagne flute and begin making my rounds. The target is somewhere in this room. My fingers drum nervously against the glass. I despise going into a situation blind. But with this one being the latest added to our list, the Order does not know much about them. We cannot even be certain if they are a man or woman.

I pass a group of revelers dancing to some obscure waltz. They seem to be enjoying themselves, perhaps more so than might otherwise be considered prudent. Yes, I can practically smell it in the air.

A Seductor is here, cavorting with their prey, loosening up their inhibitions.

My spine grows straighter, my eyes a little sharper. Glancing about, no one seems to be taking undue interest in my strolling. I continue my patrol, casual and mostly indifferent. I sip politely from the flute. The champagne is top notch, definitely expensive. Given that all the guests are members of the aristocracy, I would expect nothing less.

Many of the young women here bring back memories of my own youth. Thirty years ago, I could have been any of them, beautiful little mademoiselles without a care in the world except for finding a handsome man to wed. My pleasantly amused expression hides the sardonic grin I feel inside. I was so vapid back then. Vapid and empty-headed like these poor little birds, completely oblivious to the cat that circles their birdbath. But a watchdog is never content to suffer an intruder.

I decide that I should finish my circuit and make my way politely to the lavatory. I have almost reached the door when I feel it. A thrill passes over my shoulders as though a draft of cold air has just passed. The Seductor is nearby. I enter the room and look into the mirror, adjusting my blonde hair. There are streaks of grey throughout, but God knows I’ve earned them these past twenty-seven years. I am touching up my hair and adjusting my gown, which rides a bit strangely due to my hidden pistol, when I see her.

Her eyes, I should say.

Brilliant sapphire eyes lock with mine as I gaze through the mirror into their depths. Blinking, I can take in the rest of her face with some concentration. High cheek bones. A pert, dainty nose. And her flesh appears to be the color of alabaster. She is a magnificent specimen. I finish my preening and withdraw from the room. I can feel heat at my back, that same thrilling tingle. I find my way back to the champagne and grab a pair of flutes. Turning slowly, I lock eyes with her again.

“Would you care to join me in the courtyard for a drink?” I raise the flute in my right hand, extending it to her. Long, delicate fingers accept the offering and she smiles.

“Lead the way, please.” Her voice is musical. It is a dainty peal of silver bells in crisp winter air. My mind swims with visions of amorous encounters in the grass. “These beautiful young ladies make me long for yesterday.”

I lead her out the back door and into a grandiose garden, complete with hedge maze. “Please,” I admonish her, “you outshine all of them.” I am more than a bit disconcerted that my words seem to be from the heart. She giggles like a schoolgirl as we find a lovely stone bench upon which to perch.

“You are too kind, Madame Lacoste.” She flutters her hand in my direction and takes a sip of her champagne.

“Not at all,” I pause, coaxing out her own introduction.

“Camilla. Vera Camilla.”

“Madame Camilla.” I finish. I smile, wishing that I had been able to don my spectacles without arousing suspicion. Vera was undoubtedly the succubus-like thing I was here to find. I find myself staring into her eyes again, floundering in them. I have to get my mind back into the fight.

Seductors, I repeat in my mind, are dangerous psychic manipulators. Tugging directly at the strings of one’s desires, they feed off of the psychic energy of their victims. Beginning with the very first eye contact, they draw in their victims, as a spider draws in a fly. This can, however, be used to the advantage of a particularly strong-willed member of the order.

“…the maze.”

“I am so sorry,” I reply, “I was just… staring into your eyes.  What did you say?”

“Oh,” Madame Camilla giggles, “I was just asking if you wanted to explore the maze. With me.”

My heart flutters with anticipation, much of it colored by the risqué fantasies dancing behind my eyes. I motion her onward. She takes my hand. Even through our gloves, I can feel the tingling sensation of her presence setting my senses alight. This is undoubtedly another part of the seduction, of the lure. We while our way through the hedges for what feels like an eternity. Here and there, the cloying scent of roses dances in the air. It is positively intoxicating.

We finally find our way to the center of the hedge maze, a delightful garden where warm air has banished the autumn chill from its place. Pipes leading from a furnace below the estate blow warm air into the alcove. It is a brilliant design that the owner of the manse received many accolades for upon its completion five years ago.

Vera drapes herself luxuriously across the grass, beckoning me forward with one finger crooked in my direction. Her dainty feet poke out from under her gown. She removes her shoes and tosses them toward one wall of the alcove.

“Why don’t you remove your shoes as well? Let us feel the grass against our feet.” Her voice is liquid silk, flowing ribbons of gold and scarlet that drape across my senses. I swoon, more from her presence than the champagne. I entertain for half a second the notion of removing my boots and joining her on the grass. My right mind makes her way back to the forefront.

“Oh, I never take my shoes off outside.” It is the truth, though for much more practical reasons.

“More’s the pity,” she purrs. “Though I suppose that could be fun in its own right.”

My blood is burning as it rushes to my face. I blush like a young maiden, which quietly infuriates me. My body reacts to her as though I were still a girl, certainly not the fifty-three year old warrior woman that I am. I set myself down next to her, sitting more or less upright, my feet tucked under my gown. Without thinking about it, I find myself swimming in her eyes again. They are so lovely. I must not be paying much attention, because I am fairly certain she is sitting much closer than I recall her having been.

Even her breath is sweet as it caresses my face. I shiver in response. Her eyes flash, a burning desire behind them boiling to the surface. My hand is across the back of her neck as I pull her close to me, my other arm wrapped around her waist. She giggles as our lips press together. My thoughts are replaced with dazzling cannon fire as a kaleidoscopic burst of colors assault my senses. Behind the spectacle I can hear my heartbeat racing. My flesh prickles with excitement.

Vera returns my embrace, our kiss locked securely into place. She tastes like flowers and honey.

And sweet, slow death.

After a mental eternity, I break away from her. I am breathing heavily, my face and chest are crimson with my excitement. My hands tremble as they hold her face tenderly. She smiles again, a brilliantly white set of teeth between scarlet lips. I notice that her canines are sharper than normal, but nothing like some of the other vampires I’ve faced. They’re made for thrills, the scrape of teeth against bare flesh, or grazing a lip as the kiss ends. I am blushing again, and my fingers still quiver against her skin.

“That was wonderful, Vedetta,” she purrs. Her voice is low and husky.

“Yes it was, Vera.” My voice mirrors hers, another disconcerting fact thrown in my face. I am growing far too comfortable in the clutches of this woman, this thing. “We should go back inside before our absence is noted.”

“No,” she whispers, her fingernails run across my scalp to the back of my neck, “stay here with me, mon cheri. We have all night. We can have all the time in the world, if you wish.”

The cannon has returned, blowing a gaping hole through my resolve as her eyes swirl with mystery and pleasure. My lips are pressed against hers again, hungry and burning for delight. I am drowning in a sea of emotion that I haven’t experienced in many years. Once more, I am a twenty-four year old mademoiselle mooning over my love as his lips pull away from mine. He climbs atop his grey horse and trots toward the gate of my father’s estate. It is a memory I thought forgotten until now. But it is different. Rather than standing alone, waving goodbye even after he is gone from sight, I feel a presence at my side. A soft arm snakes itself around my waist as Vera pulls me close. She turns my chin in her dainty hand and places a soft kiss upon me. I return it, my fervor building rapidly. I want to remove my gown.

I languidly surface into the real world. Madame Camilla’s lips are trailing down my throat, toward the top of my bodice. My right hand rests across the back of her neck. My left lies limply by my left boot. The boot that holds my blade. Anger and revulsion war their way to the surface as my hand clamps against Vera’s throat. She gasps and recoils. Violence and malice flood her beautiful eyes. Her lips pull back into a demonic sneer as the blade comes free in my hand.

Her arms ensnare me, a horrific parody of a lover’s embrace. The moment is mine, however. From my kneeling position, I dislodge her as both of my legs hammer into the grass, pushing me forward with force as I drive her back. Her grasp is broken and I roll onto my feet again. My right arm is up to guard, my left is low, clutching the dagger.

“Damn you!” She’s screeching now, all the schoolgirl vigor and lust replaced by scorn. “Why could you not just succumb? You would have been so much fun, cheri.”

“Sorry, vampire. I prefer my freedom over being a slave thrall.”

My words strike a spark of recognition in her face. She is beginning to see that the tables might have turned, her being the victim this time around. “Wretched Ordo rat. Antanelis will reward me handsomely for your head.”

“Now you and I both know that Antanelis stays locked away these days. His skin is getting a bit dry and flakey to be seen in public.” Antanelis Sotiropoulos, the patriarch of the Seductors here in Paris. He is an old Greek vampire, probably one of the originals. “But I will give him a message after I kill you. What would you like me to say?”

Vera paces back and forth, looking more like a caged animal than a ferocious predator. She grins wickedly at me. “The only thing you will tell him is ‘yes, master’ once you belong to me.” She presses her pearly teeth against her bottom lip. It is a sensual gesture, distorted instantly as she bites through the flesh. It produces a flow of milky blue fluid, Seductor blood. Not for the first time tonight, I feel panic swell in my chest. Too many of my people have fallen victim to the blood of Seductors and its erotically potent powers. She sucks at her lip and approaches cautiously. I find myself wishing that this battle gown reached a bit higher. My neckline is completely exposed.

I turn the blade over in my hand, its point now facing my adversary. I change my stance, bringing up my blade arm. My right arm reaches down to the thin hem just above my right thigh. Madame Camilla takes another step forward. My fingers press through the flimsy layer of fabric. It rips as my hand dives in, grasping the grip of my pistol as I tear it free from my garter.

The vampiress lunges, colliding with me like a cannonball. I sprawl to the ground, the air rushing from my lungs in a burning torrent. My long knife punctures her left arm, dripping blue blood onto my bodice. She gnashes her teeth at me, trying to overcome my defenses as I gasp for air. With her upper body propped up by my elbow, I have only a little room for maneuvering. Her left arm has my pistol pinned against my side, still within the folds of my reinforced gown. I dig with the blade, attempting to open an artery or large vein. She lifts her head, dropping it again on my arm. Her teeth clamp onto the dress, their possible harm being blunted by the concealed chainmail.

She grinds her teeth against my arm. It hurts, but not enough to throw me off. I’m just beginning to get air into my lungs again. I wheeze. A single spot of hot, silky sensation appears in the back of my throat. It tastes like sweat, like pure carnal delight. The repugnance of knowing that I have swallowed a drop of Seductor blood is washed away by the heady medley of erotic sensations that run roughshod through me. I am burning from my thighs to my throat with longing. I stare unblinkingly into the ocean deep eyes above me, dancing with white sparks of brilliance as though all the stars were burning out at once. My arm relaxes some, allowing her to press down onto me. Though it aches in my shoulder, my body aches more. Her bosom is nearly pressed against mine. Both of her hands caress my face lovingly.

I swim in their warmth, their soft touch. I could die right now and be happy. I could die. Right. Now. My right arm slips free of its pocket almost of its own accord. A hammer clicks back, followed by a hiss and a puff. The cacophonous thunderclap of my pistol firing sets my ears to ringing. Vera falls away from me, stunned silent by the sudden reversal of fortunes. I roll away, clambering unsteadily to my feet. I thumb the second hammer and lift the flintlock toward Madame Camilla. A dark stain is blossoming against her dress as the hole in her ribs expels her precious lifeblood with every beat of her heart.

“Very well, dear Vedetta,” she is purring again, though its spell is broken by a wet sounding cough. “I will see you again, mon cheri.” She begins to back away, never peeling her eyes from where I stand.

“Give Antanelis my regards, Vera.” I spit her name at her like a poison. She disappears around the corner back into the maze. I drop my blade in the grass and rub it around with my foot. No sense in leaving it covered in blood. I wipe its dampened blade against my skirts and slide it back into my boot. I release the hammer on my pistol, setting it gently back into place. It gets cleaned as well before returning to its hiding place. A few pins from my skirt hem close the opening again and I make my way out of the maze. I wipe as much of the cerulean splatter from my dress as possible before entering the estate again.

Sideways glances and whispers accompany my return. Already the rumors are making their rounds. Where did they go? Where was the lovely lady she left with? What do you think they did? I smile to myself, knowing that the truth would make them faint. Or vomit.

I retrieve a new flute of champagne and down half of it, decorum be damned. I mill about the outskirts of the dance floor, watching distractedly as the revelers promenade. I find an abandoned chair and sit myself down. A wave of fatigue washes over me as the thrill of battle fades.

I find myself staring blankly at a window across the room, the view of outside obscured by the bright lights overhead. A pale figure passes by the glass portal. My eyes follow. Even beyond the limits of the window, I can feel her presence as she passes. She slowly circles the exterior of the ballroom, slinking toward my place against the wall. I can feel her against my back as though there were no stone between us at all. Her shoulders could be slumped against mine.

“It is a shame, you know,” she whispers, her voice ragged and wet, “we could have had so much fun.” She emphasizes the last word, shooting lightning up my spine.

I raise the glass to my lips, downing the last of its bubbling contents before I speak. “We will have plenty of fun next time, dear Vera.” I am flustered by the endearment I show her, wretched thing. “Patch yourself up. You will want to be presentable when I strike that pretty little head from your shoulders.”

“Excuse me?” A gentleman now standing beside me looks at me, aghast. I suppose I must sound insane to him.

“Oh, nothing, sir. Sorry.” I smile weakly, my cheeks burning with embarrassment. Behind the wall, Madame Camilla giggles salaciously.

“You must stop talking to yourself, Madame Lacoste. People will whisper about you.” I can feel her hand as its nails scrape down the wall outside, a shiver mirroring the motion down my spine. “Until next time, dear Vedetta. Au revoir.”

Her presence vanishes in an instant, leaving me with a lump of ice in my gut. I know immediately that she will be following me wherever I go. I cannot feel her presence, but my mind draws my eyes away from the ballroom. Out the window and to the southeast. She is out there, returning to her sanctuary or finding a victim whose energy she can drain. I curse silently to myself and retrieve another champagne flute. Once I finish sitting out the night at this ridiculous gathering, I have some work to do, starting with avoiding our headquarters. Leading vampires directly to our center of power could only end badly. I down the champagne in a rather unladylike fashion and fetch another. My night has decidedly taken a downturn.