These two figures, the reader can doubtlessly guess, were Monsieur Andre Bouquet, and the very, very young, Monsieur Armand Chauvelin.

Chauvelin was nearly reeling at the presence of his first vampire night. Each sound – from cats to crickets – resonated in his keen ears, and caught him completely off guard. To make things better, every little detail of the night was clear, and he was constantly being transfixed by the sight of the moon.

Now quite impatient to continue, Bouquet practically dragged his young assistant along. “Come along, Chauvelin, we haven’t the time to waste! The moon will still hang in the sky tomorrow night; you may look at it then. Tonight, I must teach you to feed.”

And while the moon was ever tempting, hunger drove Chauvelin onward, and he reluctantly moved on. And on, and on, through that dark night, until they were in the heart of the city, and Bouquet had selected a choice spot to wait. After settling into the darkened side street, Bouquet asked “Now, whom do you see that you like?”

After a few moments of nervous looking – for really, Chauvelin did not know how to choose – he decided he liked the woman that had just passed by, and Bouquet motioned for him to follow.

With absolutely silent steps, the pair made their way along unnoticed, Bouquet looking completely natural as he stalked the woman – for he’d done things like this a thousand times before -, though Chauvelin looked far more hesitant and nervous.

“Tonight,” confided Bouquet, “I will help you catch your prey, though she’s yours alone to feed on. I had someone earlier. Watch what I do, and, after a few more practices, I’ll let you try on your own.”

Chauvelin nodded nervously, and watched as the woman turned to enter a large, well lit building. It was then Bouquet called “M’lady!”

The woman turned around, surprised, and Bouquet began to ooze his classic charm. “I seem to have dropped my book,” he explained, steering her in a completely subliminal way in the direction of the back of the building, where it was dark and secret. “If you have a moment, I was wondering if you could help me look for it.”

Chauvelin followed, but kept silent. His natural instinct took over, and he began to become as one with the shadows. So much so that a mortal would not have noticed him at first glance. He became as a lion, covert, and absolutely silent.

“I’m sorry, I’m terribly busy, and –”

The woman was not given the opportunity to finish her sentence, for at that moment, Chauvelin lunged, clasping a firm hand to the woman’s mouth, and with the other, he grabbed her wrist. With one quick movement, his canine teeth had lengthened, and he’d plunged them into her soft neck. Her eyes glazed over, and, helplessly, she fell into her attackers embrace, while he began to suck her of her life.

With a rather proud and triumphant smirk, Bouquet watched his protégé feed, and after a few moments, stopped him. “That’s enough for now, Chauvelin. You don’t want to kill her.”

Reluctantly, Chauvelin pulled his teeth from her flesh, and released her, letting her defenseless form fall to the ground.

“Just a bit more?” he begged. As much as he hated to admit that he’d liked the taste of the blood they served him in Meaux’s fine house, he found fresh, hot, human blood much better. His keen ears became all the better, his sight, all the sharper. He did not feel human, nor did he pine for such a feeling. He was a vampire, and this was displayed proudly. He felt all the things a vampire feels, and endowed with all the tricks a vampire possessed. He had hunted; he would hunt again, next time, alone, and he would succeed.

“Not tonight,” said Bouquet, gently moving the woman to the side and propping her up against the wall. “You look perfectly healthy, and I don’t want to fill you up too much on your first hunt.”

“When can I hunt again?” he asked mournfully as Bouquet led him away from the spot, as calm as a breeze.

“In a day or two. Her blood should last you a little while, at least.” He turned with his “son,” in the direction of the house, humming merrily to himself while his steps clicked out the beat. “The hour grows late, and I still have much to speak to you of. I would like to teach you of what more I can before Jacqueline drives you back to slumber until day has gone.”

All the same, Bouquet noticed his follower’s occasional looks back over his shoulder, the sharp glances he gave at prey that looked enticing. He noted how he was still, occasionally, entranced by the moon, and how he walked in a melancholy way, obviously wishing to drain more blood.

“Sit,” instructed Bouquet merrily, handing him a glass of blood. “There’s still more I need to teach you.”

With a slight yawn – he’d only woken up about a half hour ago – he settled into a chair, drinking the blood.

“Notice anything about it?” Bouquet asked after he had swallowed some.

“Maybe….it tastes a little different, I suppose….” Guessed Chauvelin.

“Good!” Bouquet said with a grin. “Tonight I will teach you more about blood.

“As our staple and general meal, we feast on human blood. That lasts about a day or two, depending, before we need to hunt again. If we drink the blood of a drunkard, we might get a little tipsy. If we drink of someone who is sick, we can get a cold.”

“But that is the only way to become sick?” asked Chauvelin.

“No,” answered Bouquet. “I was just going to get to that.

“You see, to make ourselves appear more human, we can eat human food, but we cannot digest it. Within, say, an hour or two after eating it, we’ve got to regurgitate it or else was start feeling terribly, terribly sick. The same is true for all mortal foods, such as wine, or even so little as water.”

“I see,” agreed Chauvelin. “Yes, that all makes sense.” He then asked “You asked if the blood I drank tasted different then the blood of last night. Why?”

“Ah yes! As more of a delicacy – a drink, or snack, if you will – we drink animal blood. A chicken, a sheep, or something more exotic or unusual for high class tastes. This is….” He took a sip and let the blood swirl about his mouth for a second before swallowing. “Oh, probably a duck, I would guess. Enjoyable.”

And so they sat, those coinsures of blood, drinking and talking the way a wine enthusiast does, and thoroughly enjoying themselves.

And that was how life continued at the house of Monsieur Meaux for two more days, until Bouquet decided the welcome was well over spent, and that Chauvelin was more than healthy enough to survive a long, long night’s carriage ride back to Dieppe.

“But I thought you were walking to Dieppe when you ambushed me?” protested Chauvelin as his bags were loaded into the carriage.

“I was, but I needed the exercise. It would be dawn days before we reached Dieppe on foot, and you cannot survive the sunlight. And you’re still slightly sickly, and I don’t want you to over commit yourself. Now, be a good child, and go and say goodbye to Monsieur and Mademoiselle Meaux.”

Obediently, Chauvelin walked up to Meaux and said his goodbyes. “My many thanks, monsieur. I surely would have died without your help.”

Meaux shook his hand, and responded “It was my duty as a vampire. No thanks are necessary. Welcome to the fold. Have a good time studying in Dieppe with Monsieur Bouquet. I dare say Jacqueline and I shall be up to visit in a year or so.”

“I shall look foreword to you your visit. Thanks again, monsieur. Where is Mademoiselle Jacqueline? I’d hoped to say goodbye….”

“She’s in your bedroom, double checking that everything is packed.”

Chauvelin thanked him again, and went to go see Jacqueline. The goodbye was not tender; it was pretty formal and straight foreword: Chauvelin thanked her for all the careful care she’d provided and for keeping him company. Jacqueline replied that she did only her duty and that she hoped to see him again soon. Chauvelin agreed to that, bowed, and left the room, in a pleasant mood, for he longed to see the coast, but sad to take leave of his friends.

The two double checked that the carriage was all packed and that the horses were all set. Meaux lent them the carriage, along with it’s driver; a mortal. For telling lies in an eastern land, the man’s tongue had been removed. There was no fear of him giving away the secret of Meaux and his sister, because, not only was he a mute, but Meaux paid him handsomely. The servant, one of three much like him, also adored his kind master. It seemed to Chauvelin that there was no one alive that could possibly not love the compassionate Monsieur Meaux.

Bouquet said his goodbyes, and ushered his young assistant into the carriage as the chestnut horses bobbed their heads.

“Au revoir, Jean Claude. I shall see you soon!” the elder vampire called as the carriage finally drove off.

Long silence passed between the two, each thinking their separate thoughts. Bouquet speculated that it had been a marvelous visit, and that the accident had been for the better; he could use the company. Chauvelin’s thoughts were all his own, for he rested his chin upon his had and silently stared out the window, watching the trees gently pass by, sighing now and then, for reasons that Bouquet did not have the slightest inclination to guess at.

Finally, the younger asked “What is Dieppe like?” (A.N.: Never been to Dieppe [though I have been to France]; I just picked a random city that looked like it was near the coast. So, I’m going to say what I imagine Dieppe is like, right or wrong.)

Bouquet sighed, thinking of the place he’d decided to retire to. “Lovely in day as well as night. Rocky. We live atop a cliff, not too far from the coast. It’s a marvelous house, but hard to get to if you don’t know the way. There’s some large rocks, and a large grove of trees near by. And the waves crash on the rocks far below in a grey, turning foam, creating a peaceful sound, unless there’s a storm. Even on grey days, it is lovely. It looks wild. The house is large, built of stone; comfortable. It is marvelous….”

Chauvelin watched Bouquet as he sighed, receding into his own little world, and knew, that when he closed his eyes, Bouquet only saw Dieppe. That was what he loved beyond all else. He loved his friends, and other things, but Dieppe was the home of his heart, for he had ceased to fall in love. Chauvelin decided that he would try very hard to forget that he had a family waiting for him in Paris, and that he must content himself to the sea town that Bouquet loved so dearly.

“The town looks smaller and less populated than it actually is,” continued the vampire. “The pickings are rich, enough for two vampires of our age. We might have to leave when you hit adolescents, but that’s a long way off. The people are nice, though life by the sea has made them strong, rough. It takes the strong or the rich to survive a life by the sea. The strong fish and fish and fish, and do all the other duties that ripple around their commodity. The rich simply live and relax.”

“And which are we?” asked the young protégé.

“We are both,” responded the elder. “We are strong, but we are rich, and thusly, live the life of the rich, while we keep our strength to ourselves.”

“I see,” responded Chauvelin, and no more was said.

The rest of the trip passed in silence through those long, cold hours to Dieppe. They both took it with enormous patience, drifting off into a bored sleep now and then, before awaking from a sudden jolt or bump. The constant whirl of the wheels on the path created a sort of hum, a traveler’s lullaby, until Chauvelin found it absolutely impossible to keep his eyes open any longer.

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