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A Little Night Music Dracula
Strains of Mozart�s Eine kleine Nachtmusik vied with peals of laughter, setting the lively pace for the room spinning with activity and aglow with colors. The festivities had begun before my arrival and would doubtless continue long after I had completed my business. It was held in a certain H�tel Normandie, a place furnished in the most outrageous Rococo style, where the domestics wore powdered wigs and spoke flawed French. No one seemed to know for whom the soiree was given, or even affected to care. All thoughts were carried away on an endless flow of champagne, lost in the fluid movements of the gentry as they participated in their most cherished pastime. I
had seen her without taking direct notice of her; she watched me as I took
a glass, inspecting the golden liquid before placing it on the nearest
table. She colored; her pulse
quickened; the cards she held slipped out of her hands, fluttering to the
table and causing her companions to chide her.
The game ended abruptly, the others seeking new amusement and she
to arrange her gown, affecting not to notice as I drew nearer.
I bowed gravely and pronounced the common greeting, both suitable
and ridiculous with the frivolous atmosphere. �Bon soir, madame.� Meeting her gaze, I continued, �I am glad you do not speak French.� Her laughter was equally bright and meaningless, an empty echo of the mirth surrounding us. �Monsieur, my French is yet to be tried.� �Then let it remain that way,� I began, taking her hand and leading her toward the scores of dancing couples. �I simply abhor it when a gentleman entices a lady he has seen only at the H�tel Normandie,� she said coyly, �Particularly if he is quite rich and she is hopelessly na�ve. Would not you agree?� �Perhaps you should spare me the effort.� She laughed again, throwing her head far back as I spun her about the room. She was neither so scandalized nor so na�ve as she would claim; at that moment my attention was not fastened on her, but on the youth standing morosely at the far end of the room. He was her husband, ten years her junior and unhappily wed for the sake of old connections. No older than three and twenty, each throb of his strong, young heart called to me. He would struggle, I could see it in the set of his jaw, but once yielded, the blood would be luridly warm, and I would watch the color in that sullen countenance wane, all life draining away in a steady stream of red, heady and � He left suddenly, and I had not time to disengage myself from his insipid spouse before his vacancy near the entrance was replaced with a figure I knew intimately. Bon
soir, monsieur le comte. Are you not happy to see me? I led my partner through the movements with forced patience. Madame la comtesse. What an unexpected pleasure. She
moved forward, handing her cloak to one of the asinine fools in
excessively perfumed satin waistcoats. What is this place? I
repressed an ironic smile. The H�tel Normandie.
Are you not enchanted? Not yet. She left the parterre, casting one glance over her shoulder as she shut the door. Moments later it reopened, allowing the dismal youth to pass through, the rhythmic heartbeat gone from the room. The second heartbeat was vastly different from the first, calling out an urgent, unbroken warning; one that grew stronger with each pulse, threatening to culminate near the staircase. The figure behind the pillar was unnoticed by most, intent on a single purpose and masking it well. Kelantha bent over the torpid frame of her victim, dropping him instantly at my approach. �He is here, isn�t he? Isn�t he!� �Yes, he is here,� I answered, �Doubtless he has seen you.� The youth uttered a groan from his crumpled position, attemtping to turn his head and failing miserably. His countenance was indeed drained of color, owing to the unsightly gash on his neck. �A torn jugular! Could you not at least decide whether to feed or kill him outright?� �Your confidence in me is touching.� �A thousand apologies. What, then, do you plan to say when your fianc� arrives momentarily and finds you charmingly engaged in bloodletting?� She hissed softly, predatorily. �I should have heeded my senses; I must have known he was here.� �He will be delighted. Go.� Kelantha nearly remonstrated. �And leave you here, with a half-dead man on the floor, bleeding to � � �Yes, precisely. Go!� For he had already reached the staircase and passed into the corridor; his shadow was already visible on the wall parallel. Kelantha stepped forward, accosting him in velvet tones, leading him back to the lower levels, while I observed the progress of her prey with great curiosity. Despite his inopportune situation, the man was trying to sit upright. It implied he must have overcome his labored breathing, the incredible soreness, and those odd memories that somehow answered for his present state. I certainly had no use for him now, but I would not snap his neck and have done with it. How would two such injuries be accounted for in the morning? Methodically, I reached toward the wound and slit open the second vein. He slumped to the ground, blood filling his mouth until he choked on it, his hands fluttering to his neck wildly, grasping in vain. I watched until his throes subsided, rapt by the sight. Suicide, they would say. His wife noticed every man in the room except himself. No one would question it. I
slipped my gloves over my hands, careful not to allow my nails to tear
them, and stepped over the bloodied corpse.
No, no one would question the effects of a disastrous marriage.
Their own lives contained ample evidence.
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