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TWO
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When we got back from filming, Steven stuck to his promise. He made both of us breakfast. He still ate with me all the time, even though he didn't have to keep up the pretense. I think he just enjoyed food. Then we sat down at the table and he began his story, pausing to take the occasional bite of food or sip of coffee.
“Let’s see. Where to begin… I guess I will start with my family. I grew up in Paris in the seventeenth century. For generations, my family had been members of the royal court. We were very successful and the children were taught to handle money wisely from a very young age, so no sudden heir would squander the family fortune on gambling and whores. As a result, we were one of the wealthiest families of the period. We didn't flaunt our wealth, however. We were kind and generous to our servants, followers, and friends, but not to the point of excessiveness. Everyone knew we were well off, but no one outside the family knew exactly how well off we were. Actually, the house I grew up in is now a museum. It is in La Marais. If you want, I can take you there sometime. It is really quite extraordinary. When they redid my bedroom after turning it into a museum centuries after I left, they managed to make it nearly perfect. I’d love to show you.”
“Absolutely! I have never been to Paris. And I would love to see where you grew up. You could tell me stories not even the oldest tour guide would know!”
“Indeed, I could. Once we're done filming, I will take you. Now, where was I? Oh, yes. So my family was wealthy, powerful, and very well loved by everyone.” Steven grinned as I rolled my eyes. “Royalty and peasants alike respected and adored nearly every member of my family. There were a couple bad seeds, but we tended to ostracize them or handle their disloyalty in other ways. I enjoyed every moment of my life. As a boy, I had full run of the house and surrounding lawns and forests. I raced with friends, hunted with my father, learned to read and write from my mother, and I even learned to sew from my sister. It was a huge secret. Boys were not supposed to learn to sew. That much still hasn’t changed, surprisingly. Very few boys can get away with being a seamstress nowadays, unless your name is Tommy Hilfiger, of course.
“Anyway, as I grew older, my father started taking me to the palace on court business. It was fascinating stuff. You always hear about the intrigue and plots and whatnot, but it was so much more. Everything was so complex and thought was put in the minutest detail, right down to the shape of the wood screws in the king’s table. Meaning was read into the slightest movement and you had to be careful not to yawn at the wrong moment or you would lose your head faster than you could flinch.
“My father taught me the ins and outs of the royal life and raised me to follow in his footsteps. He arranged a marriage for me to another noble family. They were not as well liked, but they were very powerful, and an alliance between our families would make anyone stand up and take notice. The woman I was to marry was attractive enough and, though not as kind and generous as my mother, she was tolerable. So we prepared for the wedding, which was to take place two years from the time the marriage was arranged. I continued learning from my father while we lived at court and the young woman moved into my family’s mansion in La Marais to learn from my mother.
“A couple months before I was to be married, a stranger came to court. He was short and stout, but he was a barrel of laughs and everyone immediately fell in love with him. His name was Josef De Marq, or so he said. No one knew him or where he came from, but he enamored himself with everyone very quickly. My father and he became instant friends and my father invited Josef to our mansion for the wedding.
“Josef arrived at my home about two weeks before the wedding, when the hustle and bustle of preparations was in full swing. He was put in the room next to mine, which has always been a guest room of the highest quality. Gold fibers are woven into every fabric, including the thick curtains, and there are solid gold leaves painted on the headboard, armoire, and even the wall. Josef made himself at home very quickly, often bringing one of the maids or cooks to his room late at night.
“It was not until Josef actually lived with us that I noticed something was off about him. I never saw him out and about during the day. He only seemed to surface after the sun had gone down and retired to his room before it could shine its light on his rosy face. At first I attributed this behavior to his love for parties, as most parties lasted late into the evening, giving the exhausted partiers an excuse to sleep the days away. But eventually I became suspicious enough to want answers.
“After he retired one morning with one of the maids, I followed him to his room and stood outside the door. I listened very carefully for what seemed like a very long time, but heard not a sound from inside. My curiosity got the best of me. I opened the door as quietly as possible and crept inside. There on the massive bed lay the maid, Josef positioned over her, one arm under her body, her head tilted back with her neck exposed. Josef looked as though he were biting her and blood was trickling down her throat. The maid was not fighting. I thought she was dead.
“I nearly shouted, but something stopped me. I approached the bed and Josef looked up. ‘What are you doing?’ I asked.
“He straightened himself, then replied, ‘Drinking.’
“I waited for him to continue, but he did not, so I asked him to go on, less than politely. ‘Explain yourself.’
“Josef got down from the bed, laying the maid down gently. As he did, I could see two perfect holes in her neck, and they were closing very quickly. Josef came to me and took my hand. ‘I want to show you something.’
“He led me to the window and stood to one side of the crack between the curtains. Then he stuck out one hand and pulled the curtain closest to him back slightly. The sun streamed in, touching his skin. The hand immediately turned red as if sunburned, then the color started to deepen. I looked at his face and I could see the agony there. He kept his hand in the sunlight for a minute longer, until it looked as if someone had poured boiling oil over it. Then he cradled his scorched hand to his chest and dropped the curtain.
“He looked at me intently for a moment before saying, ‘Do you know what I am?’
“I nodded. 'A vampire.'”
“He confirmed, ‘Yes. Despite common belief, vampires do not harm their victims, usually. You will see, she is asleep and perfectly content. When she wakes up, the marks will be gone and she will be none the wiser. I do not drink from the same girl every night, as I do not want to weaken them and have anyone become suspicious. Will you help me keep my secret?’
“How could I not? He was one of the kindest, most enjoyable men I had ever met. I promised to keep my lips sealed and then returned to my own bed chamber to get some sleep. My father was taking me hunting that day as one of our last father-son trips before I became a married man.
“I woke a few hours later and readied myself for the hunt. I met my father at the stables and we rode to the forest as fast as our white steeds would take us. For hours, we tracked the wild boar, but it kept evading us. I was becoming weak and careless with fatigue, having spent the entire night partying with Josef and some of the maids. We finally succeeded in cornering the boar near a rocky outcrop and my father and I jumped off our horses. Despite his warnings, I proceeded recklessly and got too close to the boar. In its fury and fear, it saw me only as a predator and it charged, its powerful legs churning as fast as they would go. I was too tired to react as quickly as I otherwise might have and the boar speared me with its tusks, repeatedly.
“My father brought the boar down as quickly as possible, but the damage was done. We both knew I was finished. The medical advancements of the day were not as they are now. Stomach wounds of that sort were nearly always fatal during that time. The problem was that death from a stomach wound took longer than if you were stabbed, say, in the throat or heart. And stomach wounds are extremely painful.
“So though we knew I was a goner, my father still had plenty of time to get me back home to my mot
her, with me writhing and screaming with pain every step of the way. They lay me in my bed, where my blood immediately began to soak the sheets. My mother and her lady in waiting did what they could for me, but the pain was immense and the wounds would not stop bleeding. I would be dead before the morning for sure.
“Josef, upon hearing my blood curdling screams, entered my room, careful to stay out of any stray ray of sunlight. He stood off to the side, pain and concern on his face. Everyone who saw him assumed it was due to his great love for me, but it was something far greater than that. Josef was trying to decide if he should offer a service only he could provide.
“As the sun set, I became weaker and my pulse started to fade. The doctor, who had been summoned immediately, said that I would not make it through the night, maybe not even the next hour. My father stood over me, holding my sobbing mother in his arms, trying to comfort her, but having no success. After the doctor and everyone else had left, Josef approached them.
“He explained everything to them—who he was, what he did, and how he could help them. He could save me, their son, but I would have to leave with him immediately and I could not be married. Josef explained the process of turning