Date: Thu, 9 Jun 1994 14:16:38 EST Subject: Fluff: The Flowers of War. part 10 For Antoinette. With thanks. ****** Shortly after the little cousins had been dismissed, Claude drove Genevieve back home, making her promise again to keep what she had learned a secret. Gaspard was awake when she came into their bedroom, and he looked at her with love and concern. "Corbeau..." he began, but started coughing. Genevieve patted him on the back and gave him a handkerchief. Her lips tightened when she noticed that it became stained with red. "He is gone, Gaspard," Genevieve assured her husband. "Claude sent him off, remember? He came in to see you after." Her heart twisted, for if Gaspard was starting to lose his memory... ah, Dieu, he was dying already, no sense in denying it. "No, no," Gaspard replied irritably. "I know he is gone. You must beware of him, Genevieve. Tell Claude he must protect you when I am gone." "Gone, Gaspard? You will be with us for many years yet!" He help up the bloody handkerchief. "Do you think I do not know what this means?" he asked. "I will not be a burden to you much longer, my heart." "You are no burden, cheri," she hugged him, weeping. How could she bear yet one more loss? She kept thinking of Claude, and his secret. How many vampires were there in the world? Claude had implied that there were a great many, for he said that his little group had met with both opposition and indifference in the night world. **** In his chateau a few miles away, Claude sat brooding. There was a flutter outside his windows and he smiled and opened the shutters to admit a large black bat. The transformation to human form was so swift that it lifted the vellum sheets of writing paper from Claude's desk and sent them swirling. The newcomer was revealed to be a slim young man with a pale complexion. It was this man in whose company Blaise Lambert had often seen Claude, and so assumed that his friend was drawn to men. But the conversation that followed the youth's arrival was not that of lovers, but of a respectful son to a father, perhaps... "Monsieur," said the newcomer formally, "You must come at once. There is trouble at the place you set me to watch." "Trouble?" Claude was on his feet instantly. "Corbeau?" "He, or one of his spawn," the other spat. "Pardon, monsieur. I think they have started a fire." Troubled, Claude wondered whether or not this was a dsitraction designed to lure him away to where he could not readily help Genevieve. But a fire in the warehouse where the St.-Moriens stored their valueable silks was not good news. He had to make certain that Corbeau was not ruining his rivals' business. He rang for the little cousins. "Go to the St.-Moriens' house," he commanded them when they arrived. "Watch. If Corbeau tries to get in, stop him in whatever way you can." The ghouls would be no match for a vampyre of Corbeau's age and strength, but they would at least slow him down. Then, in bat form, he followed the youngster to the warehouse on the outskirts of Paris. ***** Genevieve had finally fallen into a troubled sleep on her cot beside Gaspard's bed. Her presence in the bed beside him disturbed what little sleep he could get, but she did not want to stray too far from his side during the long night. He coughed for a long time, spitting up bloody phelgm. Genevieve prayed, but prayer had not saved her children or her Papa, and it would not save Gaspard. But finally, he slept and she too felt her eyelids close in exhaustion. When the sound of a fight outside her doors woke her, she first thought of Gaspard. He still lay asleep in bed, as far as she could tell in total darkness. Her hands groped for the tinder box, and she cursed the night. There was supposed to be a lamp kept burning in the room, in case Gaspard needed anything during the night, but it had gone out. Finally she gave up and let her eyes adjust to the gloom, then she slowly made her way to the door and opened it. Chaos met her eyes. The footman lay dead at the door, his throat torn open. Genevieve screamed and drew back, unable to comprehend this horror. More of the servants stood huddled under the one fitfully burning lantern, watching as three figures wrestled on the floor. Snatching the lantern from its hook, Genevieve thrust the wavering flames towards the tangle of bodies, trying to sort out who had invaded her home in this manner. Cold blue eyes framed by black hair glared up at her. There was nothing human in that gaze at all. Corbeau. And, mon Dieu, the "little cousins". They were torn and bleeding, obviously losing the fight despite being two to one. Where was their master? Even as Genevieve watched, Corbeau rose to his feet, and lifted up Elrich. He hurled the white-haired ghoul at the wall, and Elrich hit with a dreadful sound of several bones breaking. He lay quite still. Jared screamed with anger and rushed at Corbeau, who easily evaded him and vanished. Blinking, Genevieve handed the lantern to a numb servant, who gripped the handlein terror. The lady of the household hurried to Elrich's side and peered at the ghoul anxiously. They had been defending her; no doubt on Claude's orders, but still they deserved some consideration. Poor creatures, she felt no fear of the ghouls now. They were not truly alive, Claude had explained, but surely they could feel pain, and die? But even as Elrich groaned to show that whatever life he possessed still stirred, there was a ragged scream from the master bedroom. "Gaspard!" Genevieve cried. The monster Corbeau had taken advantage of his rival being unprotected, and the distraction caused by the ghouls. Ah, Dieu, where was Claude? What was Corbeau doing to Gaspard? Unable to wait for her friend, determined to see if she could save her husband, Genevieve snatched the guttering lantern back and walked bravely into her bedroom. Corbeau was just lifting his head up from Gaspard's still form. Blood ran down his face, and his triumphant look told the story. Gaspard was dead, murdered in his own bed by the very devil. "He died quickly, my dove," Corbeau said. "Which is far, far more than you shall do." "Think again, Corbeau," said Claude quietly from the doorway. "Think again." ***** More, dear? Genevieve fraser@vax.library.utoronto.ca Date: Sun, 12 Jun 1994 20:39:57 EST Subject: Fluff: The Flowers of War, part 11 Here is the next part of my story for those impatient ones who demanded it! Genevieve ******* Corbeau snarled with rage and turned on Claude. Genevieve whimpered and flattened herself against the nearest wall with the servants. Gaspard was dead. Oh, Dieu, her last loved one was dead, torn apart by a monster. Why was she calling on God? There could be no God who would allow these things to happen, to have all her loved ones die and leave her still alive, bereft. Gaspard was dead. Did the horror never stop? She had loved him very much, her dear Papa could not have arranged a better marriage for her. How she would miss him! Softly she began to cry, her mind numbed by all that had happened to her. Claude went down hard under Corbeau's attack. The black-haired vampire was stronger, much stronger than Claude, and empowered by the blood he had just stolen. The lawyer raised his arms to his throat to defend his most vulnerable part. As long as Corbeau was determined to kill him, Claude knew that at least the other's attention was not on Genevieve. But if Corbeau succeeded, there would be no-one to defend Genevieve, either. And the vampire with the raven's hair and the raven's name was enraged enough to destroy everyone in the household. So Claude fought as he had never fought before, his fangs slashing at those cold blue eyes and his strong fingernails rending Corbeau's flesh like the talons of an eagle. Corbeau was surprised at the fury with with a younger vampire fought, and Claude pressed his advantage. The vampiric lawyer struck at Corbeau, tearing open his undead flesh and spilling quantities of blood. The raven-haired one screamed in agony and the knowledge that he would die the true death if the bleeding continued unabated... Claude's actions had somehow severed the femoral artery of the other vampire. In a burst of maddened strength, Corbeau heaved a heavy trestle table at Claude, and the splitnering wood entered the lawyer like a hundred tiny wooden stakes, and one large one. Part of the trestle lodged in Claude's side, dangerously near the heart. Seeing her one last friend in mortal danger galvanized Genevieve. she was no whimpering female, to stand fearfully by while a beast invaded her home! The steel that had always been part of her personality came to the fore. Corbeau was a vampire, was he? She knew what repelled vampires. She ran into her bedroom, barely glancing at Gaspard's poor body, and seized the silver crucifix from the box where she had thrust it after burying her children. She came back out again, and bravely went up to the triumphant but bleeding Corbeau and thrust the crucifix into his back. He screamed, and rancid smoke curled up from where the silver touched him. He leapt to his feet, crashed out through the shutters of the nearest window, and was gone. Genevieve rushed to Claude's side, casting aside the cross before she reached him. He smiled feebly up at her. "Nay, Gen," he panted, pulling futiley at one of the many pieces of wood that transfixed him, "I am a Christian. Such devices hold no fear for me." "Will it hurt you if I pull out this wood?" she asked, looking tearfully at the piece of trestle that was in his side. Dark blood oozed around this and Claude's many other wounds. "Yes," he replied, "but do it no matter." He braced himself as well as he was able. "Will you die?" she wondered. "Cherie, I died many years ago now." "You know what I mean, Claude. I... I cannot lose you, too. Not tonight. Not after poor Gaspard." "You must pull it out. I will die with it in, and there is a chance I will not if you remove it." She nodded her understanding, but started pulling out the samller pieces of wood first. Claude winced as each one came out and made more blood puddle on the rushes. "So much blood," Genevieve gasped. "You will need more, will you not?" "Do not concern yourself over that, cherie," Claude said, very faintly. "Just please, pull out this damned trestle." She took hold of the jagged end of the trestle, scarcely noticing how the splitnered wood dug into her own flesh. "Take my blood, Claude," she requested. "Make me what you are. Let me be part of what you are, fighting against those like Corbeau. Let me avenge Gaspard." "You do not know what you are asking, Genevieve." "I do. You will need blood. I have it, and you are all I have left." She pulled out the wood, and knelt at Claude's side. "I want to be with you," she said, burying her head on his shoulder. "I want to be what you are, to share what you know. Take my blood, Claude. Please." ******* Shall I continue? Genevieve and the slightly damp because it rained while she was cycling fraser@vax.library.utoronto.ca Date: Fri, 24 Jun 1994 16:46:34 EST Subject: Fluff: The Flowers of War, 12 Mes amis: with apologies for the delay, I offer the next part of my little tale, with the warning that it will be just as long before the next part! Genevieve ******* Copyright 1994 by Anne Fraser ********* Somehow, Genevieve bullied her frightened servants into taking Claude into a bedroom and laying him out on the bed while she continued to pull pieces of wood out of him. Jared had remained huddled at his fallen companion's side, but Genevieve could give no thought now to the ghouls. Only Claude mattered, Claude who had not answered her request... "Do not ask it of me, cherie," he pleaded, as she bent over him with the question again on her lips. "It is a terrible fate." "Madame," one of the terrified servants whispered from the door, "There is a gentleman outside who insists that you must ask him to enter." "Is he," Claude strained to speak, "A young man with light hair and one green eye?" The servant crossed herself, for mismatched eyes were the sign of the devil. "Oui, monsieur." "That is Albert," Cluade relaxed. "Go bid him enter, Genevieve." She obeyed, ready to do anything that would save Claude. The slim young man, the same who had told Claude of the fire, did indeed have one eye green, and the other 'twas brown. He bowed prettily to Genevieve. "The sieur has excellent taste," he said. "The sieur is going to die unless he has blood," Genevieve replied straight-forwardly. "Yes, I knew he had told you what he is. I did not approve." Albert sniffed. "But now that I have met you... no matter. Where is he?" She showed him, and Albert knelt by his master's bedside. "Monsieur, I am come," he said. "Take my blood." Claude's hand played feebly with Albert's hair. "Not all of it, mon fil," he replied, drawing the younger vampire down to him and fastening his fangs into Albert's neck. Genevieve watched with almost clinical detachment. She saw affection here, a concern for the one giving the needed blood; not the greedy rending that Corbeau had performed. And far too soon, Claude pushed Albert away. "I do not want to weaken you," he said when the young man protested. "Take mine," Genevieve insisted again, kneeling where Albert had been. "No!" "Monsieur, she offers freely, and you need it." Albert looked sternly at his master. "When I have my strength, I will flog you for this," Claude warned. Albert didn't look as if he believed it. "I will take my stripes gladly, monsieur, IF you get your strength back," he replied. "Take mine," Geneveive begged again. "I cannot lose you, too. I love you." "I love you, too, cherie," Claude sighed, and gently sank his fangs into her neck. Oddly, she felt very little pain... ********* There will be more, I promise! Genevieve and her assistant, the soon-to-be-vactioning fraser@vax.library.utoronto.ca Date: Tue, 5 Jul 1994 17:13:11 EST Subject: Fluff: The Flowers of War, part 13 Mes enfants: Here is the next part of my little tale. Enjoy! Genevieve ***** Copyright 1994 by Anne Fraser ******* Genevieve woke in tears, which was not surprising with all that had happened. Someone had summoned the watch at long last to investigate all the noise that had been occuring at the St.-Morien household, and they had found Gaspard's body as well as the footman's, blood everywhere on the rushes, and the broken remains of the table. Luckily, by then Claude had regained some of his strength and was able to prevent Genevieve's immediate arrest on suspicion of having murdered her husband. So many people told the story of Corbeau breaking into the house, attacking the footman and poor Gaspard like a wild thing, throwing the table at Claude; that the watch and the magistrate eventually summoned had to believe it. A warrant was sent out for Corbeau's arrest. A priest came and administered belated last rites to the bodies, which were decently washed and shrouded in preperation for burial as soon as possible. The servants, now as numb as Genevieve, swept out the bloodied rushes. Eventually, the lady of the house was allowed to retire to bed, although not her own bed since that stank with Gaspard's lifeblood and other fluids. Since it had been nearly dawn, Claude, Albert and the ghouls had also all collapsed, all on the bed in the children's room. Genevieve did not even know if Elrich was going to recover from his injuries. That was why she had tears in her eyes when she awoke. Gaspard was dead, to be buried with their children, and her cher Papa and Maman. Another death, and this one laid directly on Corbeau. She hoped the law found him and cut him down before questioning him. If they beheaded him, there was an end to his menace. But even if they did not capture him, he was ruined in France. He would not dare show himself until memory of this night faded. Genevieve vowed that her memory would never, ever fade. She might not be able to fight Corbeau on his own terms, but she would fight him on hers, and harry him until he had no place left to run. To do that, she would have to convince Claude to make her a vampire. He had stopped short of doing so last night, although he had taken her blood. And professed his love. The widow rose from bed and looked in disgust at her clothes, which were soaked with blood... whose, it was impossible to tell. She summoned her tiring-maid and was surprised when the servant came. She would have thought the servants to have deserted her while she slept. "Oh, non, madame," protested the maid as she helped Genevieve out of the layers of ruined clothes and into layers of relatively fresh ones. "We would not leave you in such trouble." Although she suspected that this was more prudence than loyalty -- where else did the servants have to go? -- Genevieve was touched. She ordered the thorough cleaning of her house, an usual task in 1500, and the remains of the table burnt. She sent for a craftsman to repair the broken shutter, thankful for once that the St.-Morien budget had not allowed the expensive new glass in more than one window. The servants watched their mistress take command with awe and respect. This was no wilting lily such as adorned the court, but a true woman who could cope with tragedy and still carry her head high. The truth was, she had to do something or go mad with grief. Gaspard had been so good to her, much better than most women of the day could expect their husbands, whose property they were, to be. He had never beaten her, never even spoken to her roughly, and she had adored him. Corbeau would pay dearly for this, if she could make him. When Claude woke as evening fell, he thought first to see to Elrich. The ghoul was recovering, his supernatural frame healing at less than vampiric speed but greater than human. "Elrich good," he grunted, when Claude poked at his broken bones. "Go find pretty lady." Albert grinned at his master. "Yes, monsieur," he added his voice. "You should go poke at her bones." "Albert," said Claude sternly, "Did I not promise to flog you?" He looked about, but there seemed to be no stick, whip or rod to hand suitable to the task. The younger vampire looked completely unabashed, and not very worried about the threat of a whipping. "It is what you desire, monsieur," he said. Claude sighed. The boy was right, but the night after her husband had been brutally murdered might not be the best time to mention his desire to Genevieve. He gave Albert a hard whack on the backside with the palm of his hand, just to let him know he wasn't going to get away with it, and went to seek the lady of the house. She was in the darkening garden, looking at the flowers closing up for the night. She rose when he approached, and he could see she had been weeping. The words he'd been carefully rehearsing died in his throat, and he simply opened his arms. She stepped into his embrace and lifted her head to be kissed. "You must think me a mad wanton," she sighed after their lips parted, "To so willingly go to another man when I buried Gaspard today." "He is dead, cheri," Claude whispered huskily. "He will not rise as one of us." "One of 'us', Claude?" "Yes, Genevieve. I will make you what I am. If you still desire it." She shuddered in his arms, but it was not with fear or revulsion. It was grief, and desire, and exhaustion. She had no strength left. Claude would have to give it to her. He held her tightly, breathing in the scent of the flowers and her hair. "I desire everything you can give me," she said after a moment, and looked up into his eyes. "Everything, Claude. Or can you...?" she flushed slightly. He chuckled. "I can, cheri," he assured her, and led her back inside to show her just what he could do. ****** Are you still my chers amis? :-) Genevieve and her chere amie fraser@vax.library.utoronto.ca Date: Tue, 12 Jul 1994 18:40:52 EST Subject: Fluff: Flowers of War, part 15 [really PART 14] Mes amis: The next part of my story! Ejoy! Genevieve. **** Genevieve turned over on her side and smiled in the darkness at the man beside her. Claude had shown her -- ah, Dieu, how he had shown her! -- that a vampire was still capable of loving a woman. He had coaxed responses out of her body that she had never dreamed existed. Gaspard had been tender and considerate in bed, Claude was darkly veiled passion and a hint of danger. Making love had never been an adventure before fo her. And when he had once again bent to take her blood, it had not hurt at all. Nor had drinking Claude's blood been a terrible ordeal. In the height of passion, it had seemed the finest nectar. Thinking of Gapsard now made her only sad, as if at mention of a sweet memory. He was dead and out of pain. She could only hope that Corbeau had not made Gaspard suffer. She suspected that the evil one had killed Gaspard fairly quickly, for his quarrel was not with his business rival, but with Claude and Geneveive. Claude reached out and held his lover tightly. "C'est bon, cherie?" he asked. "C'est tres bon," she traced the line of his ribs. "Have you been happy with me?" he asked. As soon as it had been decent to, after the period of mourning, Claude had legally married Genevieve so that they could live and sleep together without creating a fuss. "So happy that I am afraid," the fledgling vampire replied. She had survived the Turning and proven as powerful a young nosferatu as Claude had suspected she would be. "Afraid, cheri?" he murmured, playfully nibbling on her shoulder. "Of me?" "No, never of you. I am afraid of happiness, Claude. I have had it taken away from me too many times. There are too many graves in my life." "You had best become accustomed to it," he said, rather unsympathetically. "For, if there were too many deaths for you when you were mortal, then you will never be able to adjust to immortality. To be one of us is to watch humans you love grow old and die, Genevieve. Yes, and even other vampires die." "Why must we talk of death?" she asked. "Because we are dead, and the subject fascinates us." "I see something of yours that is most emphatically not dead, Monsieur Du Monet," she laughed. "Madame, is that any way for a married woman to speak?" But even the rhythm of their bodies moving together into climax did not banish Genevieve's fear. ***** Albert came frantically to the gates of Claude's chateau late one night, a year or so after his master had married the beautiful Genevieve. Claude had told his new bride how he had Turned Albert--the odd-eyed boy had been a apprenticed to him as a law clerk and had been seriously injured in an accident. By the time Claude had arrived, all he could do for the boy was Turn him. Albert was like a son to the lawyer. "Not a lover?" Genevieve had teased. "Pardon?" Claude had looked puzzled, as well he might. He had proven every night what his interests were. "My Papa thought that you were a lover of men," Genevieve had explained. Claude had laughed. "Your Papa was a very intelligent man," he'd chuckled. ""But not, perhaps, very observant. He likely saw me treat Albert fondly, and he knew I had no son, so he came to the wrong conclusion." He'd sobered quickly. "But there are such men and women in the world, cherie, and they are deserving of your friendship. Should you ever meet such a one in dire need, I hope you will shelter him or her for my sake." "I will, Claude," Genevieve had promised. Looking now at the upset young Albert, Genevieve felt a great love for the odd-eyed apprentice. She had come to think of him as a son, also, even though he was actually her senior by several decades. But poor Albert would never grow up. Vampires could age themselves if they pleased, however, Albert apparently did not please. "Monsieur," he flopped to his knees in front of Claude, "Please, forgive me. I have failed you. Name any punishment and I will bear it, only say that you shall not banish me or slay me. I deserve even that, but I beg your forgiveness." "You shall have it, Albert, if you tell me what you have done," Claude replied. He looked amused, being used to Albert's histrionics. A sharp word, perhaps a light cuff, and all would be forgotten until the next "crisis". "Are you not supposed to be watching the city gates, Albert?" Genevieve asked, looking at the young man sternly. "Oui, madame, and that is my crime, that I deserted my post. But there was a fille tres jolie, and I followed her..." Albert gulped. "I was watching with Pierre, monsieur," he went on more quietly, "And I had only gone a short way with the mademoiselle when I heard Pierre call my name. I thought he was simply calling me back, so I watied to kiss the girl before I returned to my post." Albert hung his head, horror evident on his face. Claude's smile vanished. This was very serious, he could tell. "Go on, Albert," he said. "It is all right." "When I came back, monsieur, I found Pierre, but ... oh, Dieu!" he started to cry. "His head was gone, monsieur. It was horrible!" ******* Qui desire encore? *smile* Genevieve and her friend who is not going to go to Bloodstock AS Genevieve, fraser@vax.library.utoronto.ca Date: Sun, 17 Jul 1994 22:31:25 EST Subject: Fluff: The Flowers of War, pt 15 (bien sur, c'est temps!) Mes amis: my apologies for the mix-up with the part numbers. These human secretaries are so fallible! Ahem, what I meant to say, was that my memory is so fallible... *smile* Genevieve ************************ Albert collapsed at Claude's feet, weepeing bitterly. Genevieve had never seen a vampire cry before, and was appalled at the sight of bloody tears. She and Claude raised the boy to his feet. "You are certain it was Pierre?" Claude demanded, shaking Albert's arm slightly to get his attention. "Oui, monsieur," came the miserable reply. "The clothes were the same, and you remember how Pierre lost his finger in his horse's traces, and it had not yet grown back? I saw that finger, monsieur." "Did you leave a beheaded body just lying in the street?" "Non, maitre. I dragged him out of sight, the way you taught us." Genevieve put her hand on Claude's shoulder. "Pierre was a good man," she said softly. She knew that was an understatement. Pierre had been a key figure in the vampire "underground" that Claude had formed. His loss was a terrible blow for the cause. "Corbeau," said Claude grimly. "Damn him, if I catch him, I'll disembowel him and make him eat his own ..." he looked at Genevieve. "Pardon, cherie." "How can it be Corbeau?" Genevieve asked. "The magistrates are looking for him. There are orders that he be shot on sight." "Human laws mean little to him," Claude replied. "He dares much to gain his goals. No, this must be him, or his doing, cherie. No-one else could have taken Pierre unawares. Why must that black brute be so powerful? I wish I had his master here to confront with the crimes his get has committed." "Did you know Corbeau's master?" Genevieve asked. "Who could possibly have turned so criminal a mind, knowing that his get would commit outrages through eternity?" "Only another with an equally criminal mind, Gen. Corbeau's master was another such as he. Luckily, he ceased to trouble us a few decades ago." "I would that Corbeau ceased to trouble us," said Genevieve with fervour. "Monsieur, madame," spoke up Albert, "should we not see to poor Pierre?" "Quite right, Albert," Claude sighed. "Ask the little cousins to ready the closed carriage, would you?" Genevieve would not be left behind, so the three of them rode through the darkened streets of Paris, with Elrich driving the horses. Jared had stayed behind at the chalet in case Corbeau tried anything there. They found Pierre's mutilated body, already showing signs of decay, where albert had left it and conveyed it back out of the city to Claude's chateau. They built a pyre, since nothing could bring the vampire back from beheading. Claude had tears in his eyes when he threw the burning torch into the pile of wood and watched it catch. "Adieu, mon ami," he whispered. Genevieve held Claude tightly. "Is that not an odd thing to say, cheri?" she asked. "I am a Christian," Claude replied, "I believe that vampires have souls, of some sort. We are all God's children save those who have turned their backs on Him. And it does not matter what you call God, cherie ... no matter what you believe in, as long as you are not completely given to the night, there is hope." "Hope of what, Claude?" Genevieve wanted to know. He watched Pierre burn. "Salvation," he replied. "Redemption. Peace, perhaps." The flames took a long time to die out. ************* Who would like more? Genevieve and her mollified secretary fraser@vax.library.utoronto.ca Date: Wed, 3 Aug 1994 20:04:51 EST Subject: Fluff: The Flowers of War, pt 16 The next evening, Claude called his whole network together. They sat in the largest room of the chateau, on chairs, stools, cushions and the rushes, or propped against the tapestried walls or the larger furniture. Over a hundred stern-faced male and female vampires, of all sizes, races and appearance, listened to Claude. No matter whether they were his elders, who watched with narrowed eyes and hunger on their lean faces, or his juniors, who leaned forwardly avidly, the bloodlust burning in their bright gazes, they did not interupt their chosen leader. Claude spoke of Pierre's murder, the horror of True Death meted out unsought and unasked for. Only one vampire could murder another, and this was the ultimate crime in these ranks. Breather humans who drove stakes into the undead, or burned them in their coffins were one thing. There had always been hunters, and there always would be. It was accepted, along with the risk from sunlight, silver and the ennui that lead to suicide. But for one of their one, however wicked, to commit such a crime, was treason. No one spoke in Corbeau's defense, or denied that he had been the one to behead Pierre. All in that room had cause to distrust or hate Etienne Corbeau, and this latest outrage simply added fuel to fires that already burned high and hot. "He must be somewhere in France, likely quite close to Paris," Claude told his audience. "We must search him out. Destroy him, if possible, but if it is not, at least see to it that he leaves France. I will not rest until he pays for Pierre's death." He walked over to Genevieve's side and hugged her. "And for that of this lady's husband," he added. She put her hand in his and let him squeeze her tightly, relishing the pressure of his grasp and the faint, spicy aroma of him. Had her heart still beaten normally, it would have been racing in fear, she knew. Corbeau would not be so easily disposed of, and might well send many more to the true Death before it claimed him. Genevieve was desperately afraid that Claude would die in this vengeful pursuit of that beast, Corbeau. There had already been too many losses in her life. She could not bear to think of no longer having Claude at her side. "If I find Corbeau," spoke up one vampire, a stocky African male with fierce scars on his face, "I will pluck the raven, never fear." There were murmurs of agreement from the others. They dispersed itno the night on their mission. It was time to hunt the raven. Claude looked down when Genevieve did not release his hand. "You must let me go, cherie," he said. "No, never," she cried. "I cannot. What if I should lose you, as well?" Claude freed his hand and stroked her hair, and she began to calm under his administrations. She ran her hand across his knees, relishing the feel of the fine fabric and his hard body beneath it. He was so very different from Gaspard; much more sensual and vital, more ... alive. A small, rebellious laugh escaped her when she thought of this word to describe Claude, but it was true. Claude believed in taking chances and daring life to punish him for his audacity. Gaspard had been careful and quiet, not a gambler at all. Gaspard had died. Horribly. Claude had survived for far longer than a mortal span. Genevieve sighed, knowing that she would lose Claude by trying to keep him safe. "Let me go with you," she said. "Non, cherie. You are still a fledgling, albeit a very strong one. Besides, someone must stay here to protect the chateau, convey messages, and look after the little cousins." "I will _not_ be content to sit and spin while the men hunt the one who murdered my husband!" Genevieve snapped. "I would think less of you if you were," Claude assured her. "I do not ask you to be content. What I desire is your safety, not your contentment. Corbeau may very well attack the chateau. There is no way to know that monster's plans. If he comes, and looks to seize the house, you must set fire to it. With him inside, if at all possible. There are papers here he must not possess. You may be no safer here than hunting in the streets. Please do this for me." "Is that a command, master?" Genevieve regretted the words the moment they were out of her mouth. "Forgive me, Claude," she begged. "I am you bloodmaster, Genevieve," Cluade stated, and his voice and eyes resembled the frost that forms on the plants at a river's edge. "If I command it, it is your duty to obey my will." Then he softened. "but I do not command it. I ask it of you, cherie." "I will obey," Genevieve promised, her lips asking for a kiss to seal the bargain. Claude's kiss tasted of woodsmoke. ___________ Shall I give you more? Genevieve and her friend fraser@vax.library.utoronto.ca