Death Becomes Him - 22

“Behave?” Rory grumbled. “What does she think I’m going to do, drag you into my lair and have my wicked way with you?”

Trent shrugged. “Maybe. Not that I’d let you.”

“Oh?” Rory scowled, gulping down the rest of his wine.

“We need to talk about—things, before that happens.”

Brightening somewhat, Rory replied, “Yeah I guess so. Like what happens now that you’ve found me? And that brings up another point. Why the hell did you come looking? I had the serious impression you were more than willing to see the back of me the last time we were together.”

“I know.” Trent sighed then said, when he was certain Rory was paying attention, “I didn’t mean to. What I said, it came out all wrong but it took me forever to figure that out. I don’t know how many times I replayed the final bits of our conversation over in my mind until I realized how I’d screwed up. I—I thought you walked away because you decided coming back had been a mistake. Especially the way I was acting.”

“You did nothing I hadn’t expected,” Rory said quietly, reaching for Trent’s hand. “Even at the last, when I thought you were telling me you wanted me to leave; I knew that was going to be the end result.” He smiled, squeezing Trent’s hand. “There’s something a bit—spooky about a boyfriend who’s turned into a vampire.”

“No shit,” Trent muttered whole-heartedly. “Although”—he intertwined his fingers with Rory’s—“I’m beginning to get used to the idea. At least I think I am. I wouldn’t be here if I wasn’t.”

“I hope that’s true. I’d hate to think you just dropped in to say hello and then go on your merry way.”

Trent snorted. “I might do that to a next-door neighbor, but somehow coming thousands of miles, then driving a ton more up a steep, winding mountain road hardly constitutes ‘dropping in’. Don’t you think?”

“Yeah, I guess. I forget human’s…”—Rory paused, shaking his head in dismay—“I shouldn’t use that word right now I suspect. It just accents how much I’ve changed.”

Putting his arm around Rory’s shoulders, Trent said gently, “You told me, that night, that just because you’re a vampire doesn’t mean you’ve changed who you were. You used to be a good person. A bit strange since you believed all the things you told the tourists, or at least most of them. I remember you saying you felt ghosts in some of the houses you took them to.”

“But remember, I never said I knew there were vampires around.”

“No, what you said was, if there were you wouldn’t be the least surprised that they didn’t show themselves because a stake through the heart would be painful. By the way, is that myth true?”

“Umm, yeah. But think about it. If someone staked you, you’d die. Right? Why should it be any different for us?”

“Good point.” Trent smiled, then kissed Rory’s temple. “What about all the other myths, like crosses and holy water and crossing water… Okay, that last is obviously false or you’d have been stuck in the Quarter for the rest of you very long life.”

“Big time. According to Emily, and after all this time I have no reason to doubt her, there are very few of those stories that are true. At least as far as protecting yourself from us, or killing us.”

“And being bitten by one doesn’t turn someone into a vampire?”

Rory laughed. “That’s werewolves, and to the best of my knowledge they do not exist.”

“To the best of my knowledge, until a while ago, neither did vampires so don’t count the poor werewolves out.”    

“Good point.”

Death Becomes Him - 21

“Tell me about yourself. Rory says you manage a hotel?”

“Yes, ma’am. It’s small, but growing. I like to think I had something to do with that.”

“For heaven’s sake call me Emily. Please.” She smiled wickedly. “I may be older than sin, which I think Rory’s probably told you, but I’m still as young at heart as I look on the outside.”

“Emily it is, then. Let’s see, what else would you like to know?” Trent found he was relaxing somewhat and hoped it wasn’t because she’d done something to him.

“Trent,” Emily said sternly, “I would never try to control you unless it was an emergency. I find those of my kind who do that to be despicable.”

The tone of her voice said she meant it so Trent nodded. “I do have a request though, if you don’t mind. Please stay out of my head. It’s more than a bit disconcerting, having you read my every thought.”

“Done,” she replied with a smile. “Again, unless it’s an emergency, I’ll leave your thoughts to you alone. Now, let’s see”—she tapped a finger to her lips—“what do you do for entertainment?”

“Not much. Read, go to the occasional movie…”

“Hit up the clubs sometimes.” Rory broke in as he entered the room.

Trent drew in a big breath of relief, his heart beating faster. His quest hadn’t been in vain. Despite Emily’s telling his Rory was here, he hadn’t been quite certain he believed her until this second. He smiled, jumping to his feet to embrace Rory. For a brief moment Rory stiffened. Then he hugged Trent tightly before letting him go.

“I’ve missed you,” Trent said softly.

Rory quirked a bit of a grin. “Given that you fact you made the trip here on what I suspect was just a hunch and a hope, I think I believe you. I’ve missed you too. More than you know.”

“Then why…?” He refrained from completing his question, realizing Emily was still sitting there watching and listening. Instead he asked, “Are you going to join us?”

When Rory glanced at her as if asking for permission, Emily got up, moving to the other sofa so that Trent and Rory could sit together. Then she said, as if there had been no interruption of her conversation with Trent, “I’m afraid there are no clubs within a hundred miles of here. However I have a well-stocked library and, believe it or not, a small movie theater in the basement, next to the media room.”

Guess I was wrong about the dungeon.

Rory obviously picked up on Trent’s thought because he tossed his head back in laughter, his dark hair flaming out then settling back down on his shoulders when he straightened again. Immediately he said contritely, “Sorry, I know you don’t like me doing that.”

“You look good when you laugh,” Trent replied, intentionally misinterpreting his words. He smiled, touching Rory’s hand. “You were always so… so happy when we were together and it rubbed off on me.”

The young woman Trent thought was the maid appeared at that moment, carrying a tray which she set down on the coffee table. There was a plate with several kinds of cheese and crackers, Trent’s coffee with a sugar bowl and cream pitcher, and two glasses of wine. She handed one glass to Emily, while Rory took the other. Trent added some sugar to his coffee then picked up the cup.

Emily raised her glass, saying, “To our new friend.”

“Thank you,” Trent replied. He took a sip of coffee, pronouncing it some of the best he’d had, which was the truth.

They all drank in silence for a time, Trent alternating between that and eating. He kept glancing at Rory, and every time he did, Rory was looking back at him with a speculative expression. Trent found it unnerving but didn’t want to ask what it was about with Emily seated right across from them. As if sensing he wanted her to leave, Emily set her glass down, stood and told them she had some things to take care of. She paused by Rory long enough to kiss his cheek and tell him to behave and then swept out of the room.

Death Becomes Him - 20

Now, how do I get to the chateau? There doesn’t seem to be any way to let them know I’m here.

“Who are you, and why should you be allowed inside the gate?”

Trent barely repressed a shout of fear when the speaker suddenly appeared at the other side of the gate. Swallowing hard, he replied, “My name is Trent Dickens. I’m a—friend of Rory Mathieu.”

As quickly as the vampire, for Trent knew he had to be one, had appeared, he vanished again.

Now what? Do I stand here and wait for him to return, or try scaling the wall and hope there’s no sharp things on the top of it?

“There are.” The vampire had returned. “The mistress says you may enter.” With those words, he opened the gate. “Follow me.”

Trent gave a mocking salute, behind the vampire’s back, and trailed along after him to the chateau. They walked up a steep flight of stone steps to a heavy oak door. It opened as if on some command, and Trent had the feeling his escort had let whoever was inside know they were there. It turned out to be another male who disappeared seconds later.

The entry hall was vast, with gray stone walls and large oak doors. At the far end was a long, curving staircase to the second floor. As Trent watched, a slender, blonde-haired woman appeared at the top, almost gliding as she came down the stairs and across the hall to where he stood.

“Welcome to my home,” she said, her deep amber eyes looking him over with what he hoped was approval. “I’m Emily Carpenter and,” she smiled up at him as she couldn’t have been more than five-foot one or two, “you, I understand, are Rory’s friend, Trent.”

Trent resisted the urge to bow as he replied, “I am.” He glanced quickly back to the stairs, hoping against hope to see Rory coming down them. He wasn’t.

Emily smiled, resting one hand on his arm. “He’s just waking up. He should join us in a few minutes.”

“Then he is here.” Trent felt his pulse speed up at the thought he’d soon be seeing Rory.

“He’d better be, or you’ll be one very disappointed young man.” Emily grinned as she led him into a room on the right side of the hall. It was small and cozy, or as cozy as a room with stone walls could be, Trent supposed. A fire burned cheerfully in the fireplace that took up all of one of the narrower walls. In front of it, facing each other, were two surprisingly modern looking sofas separated by a long coffee table. Emily pointed to one sofa and they sat. Seconds later a young woman appeared in the doorway. Emily asked what Trent would like to drink.

“Coffee, if you have it,” he replied.

“Of course we do. The house, the chateau, may be old but we’re quite up-to-date as far as amenities go. That includes the best coffee-maker available. Would you prefer regular or espresso?”

“Regular would be fine, thank you.”

Emily repeated his request to what Trent presumed was the maid, despite her casual attire of black slacks and a turquoise blouse. “As for myself,” Emily said, “I think a glass of Malbec red wine. Would you like something to eat, Trent? Dinner, a sandwich, cheese and crackers?”

Trent chuckled. “I’ve been eating sandwiches all day, but cheese and crackers sounds good.”

With a nod, the young woman left.

Death Becomes Him - 19

Trent flew into Toulouse, arriving Sunday morning, the second day of his vacation. A rental car was awaiting him and the very polite and helpful clerk marked the route he needed to take to get to Saux. It was, from what his research had told him, a tiny town with about one-hundred and fifty inhabitants. It was also the closest town to Émilienne Charpentier’s chateau. Presuming of course it was her chateau and that he wasn’t on a wild goose chase.

Thanks to one of the owners of his hotel, who had connections in nearby Tournon, Trent had a hotel room reserved there. He’d been told it was about a ten minute drive from Tournon to Saux. Getting to the chateau would take much longer as it was deep in the mountains with only a narrow road leading up to it for most of the way.      

After checking into the hotel, leaving his bags in his room, Trent took a stroll around the town. Tournon perched on the side of a hill and to Trent’s inexperienced eyes looked as if it had been built in medieval times and hadn’t changed much since then. He found a small restaurant with a patio overlooking the area and ordered a late lunch of salmon and what was billed as a local apple pie. He presumed, with a bit of amusement, that it meant the apples were grown locally, not that the pie was made locally while the rest of the meal came ready-made from somewhere else.

When he was finished with his meal he decided to make the drive to Saux. The road followed a small, bubbling stream, the Pyrenees towering on the horizon in front of him.  The town was just as it had been billed, tiny and also very medieval in flavor. He suspected ‘quaint’ was the perfect word for it. He found the road he needed to take to the chateau, but it was getting late so he returned to Tournon and his hotel.

Early Monday morning he was up and moving again. His plan, such as it was, was to get to the chateau, wait until it was dark and then…

Hell, breach the walls and hope I don’t get attacked by a vampire guard or something? Taken prisoner I could deal with, if it means I’ll get to see Rory. And that—he sighed—presupposes he really is there and that his whole story wasn’t a lie.

Trent was nothing if not practical—usually. Since he knew he’d be gone for the day and possibly, probably, well into the night, he stopped at a small restaurant in Tournon. After eating breakfast he had them prepare sandwiches he could take with him, and bought bottled water as well. Then, as ready as he could be, he took.

By noon he was on his way up to the chateau, heartily glad he had been smart enough to rent a small car. The road lived up to its billing, being both narrow and winding. At some points there were fields on both sides with a creek or a small lake off in the distance. At other times he was driving between towering peaks that made him feel insignificant, and very alone. That feel grew the deeper into the mountains he went. By the time it was late afternoon he wondered if perhaps he’d been misled about how to get to the chateau. He’d entered the coordinates he had into the car’s GPS system, but if they were wrong then he was in for a long, dark drive back down to Saux.

Finally, as he cautiously followed a sharp curve in the road, he saw what he’d been searching for, a narrow lane off to the right. He chuckled when the GPS agreed he was in the right spot and told him that he had another two kilometers to go.

He inched the car up the lane, which was even more twisted than the road he’d just left. His headlights bounced off the trunks of tall trees whose branches arched overhead, making the early evening seem as dark as midnight.

Then, just ahead of him, he saw a stone wall that had to be fifteen feet in height, with an iron gate barring entrance to what was beyond. Pulling off, as much as possible, to the side of the lane he turned the car off and got out. Walking to the gate, he peered through the thick bars.

Dead ahead, perhaps a quarter of a mile from where he stood, he saw the chateau. The pale stone of the outer walls gleamed white in the light from the almost full moon. Turrets rose above it, capped by peaks that made them look almost like arrows ready to be shot into the cloudless indigo sky. No lights showed through the narrow, mullioned windows but the moon glinted off them as if wanting to make it appear the occupants were alive and awake and perhaps having a party to which Trent had not been invited.

Ivy climbed halfway up the pale gray stone walls and around the lower windows. As far as Trent could tell, the chateau was three story’s tall. With a dungeon in the basement where they keep humans prisoner. He chuckled when his imagination took him there, but for all he knew it could be the truth, despite the fact Rory had said modern vampires were as moral as they had been when they were human. Given some people I’ve run into, that might not be saying much.

The chateau was surrounded by a wide lawn, a few trees scattered around the edges next to the stone wall. From the iron gate a narrow driveway wended its way to one side of the building, disappearing around back.

Death Becomes Him - 18

And so Trent's life went on. The hotel continued to prosper under his management. To the point that when a fast-food place next door closed its doors, he suggested to the hotel owners that they buy the property and expand. They not only thought it was a great idea, they gave him a raise.

When he had free time, and he tried not to, he would sometimes go out to a club. He always returned home afterwards wondering why he bothered. I’ll be a bachelor until the day I die. I was over Rory, almost, until he reappeared. Then, for a brief moment, once I began to accept what he is, I thought perhaps we… He smiled grimly. That will teach me to think. When it comes to him it only causes pain.

Still, he couldn’t get Rory out of his mind and it was driving him crazy. Everywhere he went in the city after dark he looked for him. Every man he came in contact with he compared to Rory, and they came in a poor second. It was insane and he knew it. What they’d had between them, before Rory vanished the first time, had been good but not some earth-shattering romance. They had become lovers in high school, then again when Trent had moved down to New Orleans. They were pulled apart by life, and—by death he supposed. Now it had happened again.

Only this time he walked away, without looking back. No, he did look back, just long enough to say he still loved me. Apparently that’s not enough. What did I say, or do, that he didn’t want to stay? What made him think I didn’t want him to?

Trent pondered those questions more than once, replaying their final words over and over. Then, late one evening as he and Beau returned from their walk, it hit him. ‘Just the way I will always remember you’.

He thought… he must have thought my saying that was my way of telling him to leave. That I would remember him because I wasn’t going to let him be in my life again. Is that what I meant to say? Or did two small words misspoken, ‘will always’ ruin what chance we might have had, had I not said them?

“I guess I’ll never know, will I, Beau?” They continued on toward the house and suddenly Trent stopped, much to Beau’s apparent surprise from the look the dog gave him. “I could find out, if I knew where to start looking for him. And I do. Well, sort of. Maybe. I mean how many chateaus can there be in the Pyrenees?”

Hundreds, he discovered an hour later when he went online to look. Rapping his fingers on the desk in frustration, he muttered, “What did he say her name was? Emily… Emily Carpenter. But that’s Anglicized. What would it be in French?” He brought up a translation site, typing in ‘Emily’, which was no help, and then ‘Carpenter’. “That’s it, I think,” he said when ‘Charpentier’ came up as one of the words meaning carpenter in French. He headed to a name site to try again to find something French which would mean ‘Emily’, or which she could have shortened, Anglicized, into Emily. There were three and he made note of them.

From there he Googled each one with the surname Charpentier after it, praying he had it right and would get a hit, or hits, but not too many. He found some, on ancestry and genealogy sites, and might have ignored them until he remembered Rory saying she was at least five thousand years old.

She was, is, a Countess too.

He added that to the search parameters and sighed softly when he came up with two women who fit. Neither one was as old as Rory had said, but then when he thought about it, Rory realized she wouldn’t appear that old. Maybe in her twenties or thirties? One of the two women had been thirty-two when she had died, the other had been in her sixties. That would have been very old, back in the late medieval times. He was honestly surprised to find that ancestry sites traced things back that far until he realized there were people who claimed to be descendants of very early English and European royalty, and had proof that they were. It almost made him consider tracing his own family history. But not now. That’s for some future time when I’m old and retired.

Going back to the Émilienne Charpentier who had died when she was thirty-two, he delved deeper into her ancestry and her descendants. He figured if she was Rory’s Emily she would have ‘come back’ as a daughter or niece. Finally, long after midnight, he found what he had been searching for. An Eveline Bonheur, the great-grand daughter of Émilienne, had married one Cyrille Fournier, a count in the court of Louis XVIII. The king had rewarded him with a chateau in the Pyrenees for meritorious services rendered.

“It’s a long shot,” Trent said as he wrote down all the information and shut off the computer. “But”—he chuckled—“I always did want to visit France and I’ve got three weeks vacation time coming. So what the hell, nothing ventured, nothing gained as they say. And the gains, if I’m right, could be well worth it. I hope.”