The Maestro's Maker (18 page)

to make me what you are? What that hideous man back there is?”

“No,” Claudio said. “I would not take from you your life—your wife and daughter. I

would not do that!” He brought his hand hard against the side of the carriage, by the boy’s

head, and turned his back, breathing heavily.

Lucio jumped, but recovered quickly and followed him. “How do I know this? I have

never seen you before today. How do I know what you would do?”

Claudio turned and shouted, “Do not judge me by what has happened to me! Judge

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me by my actions. From what you’ve told me, they are not so different from your own.

We are the same.”

Lucio moved away, eyes wide. “Blood,” he said, holding up his hand. “You drink

blood?”

Suddenly, Claudio looked like the most weary man in the world. “Yes,” he said with

a sigh.

Wild-eyed, Lucio nodded, then bent over and gagged. Claudio took a step toward

him, but Lucio moved away. “Don’t come near me!” he shouted, standing up with some

difficulty. “Don’t ever come near me! Stay away from me and from my family,” he said.

“Whatever else I’ve done, I am not yet damned to hell.”

Claudio spoke quietly. “Allow me, at least, to return you to your home—”

“I’ll find my own way home,” Lucio said, backing away. Then he turned and ran

toward the road.

Claudio watched him go for a moment. Then he turned to Victoire. “If you are not

repulsed by vampires, brother, ride with us in my carriage. Instruct Pierre to follow.”

Victoire’s eyes were still very wide, but he nodded and went to speak with his boy.

Claudio turned to Jean. “Take us home,” he said, his voice breaking. “There is nothing

more for me here tonight.”

* * * *

“You’re both vampires,” Victoire said hesitantly in the carriage. He sat across from

me and Claudio, in the middle of the bench, facing backward.

“Yes,” Claudio said wearily. “It was necessary, thanks to our albino friend. You are in

no danger. We feed on human slaves.”

Victoire nodded. No one said anything else until we arrived at the apartment.

Florentine was sitting on the couch in the drawing room, brushing her hair, while

François stared down into the street from the balcony. He came in when he heard us.

Florentine sat still and looked nervously at everyone.

“Where is Bernardo?” Claudio demanded.

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“Sulking,” François said, then flashed his most winning smile at Claudio and Victoire.

“Victoire, it has been too long. And how is the pride of your loins?” he asked Claudio,

then squinted at him. “What is that on your cuffs?”

Claudio looked at the brown stain on his cuffs. “My son is alive and well,” Claudio

said. “His name is Lucio. Why is Bernardo sulking?”

“I was hungry and there was a fire between my legs.”

“It’s probably syphilis,” Claudio said, rubbing his eyes with thumb and forefinger.

“We can’t get syphilis,” François said, turning to me. “Can we?”

“I haven’t been ill since changing, and I never saw Gunnar become ill, either,” I

said.

“What an interesting life my brother has been leading,” Victoire said, stepping further

into the room.

“Never say that devil’s name,” he said, raising his finger at me.

“Claude-Michel...is something wrong?” François asked.

“Forget that name as well,” he said. “Claude-Michel is dead, and we have to leave

this place.” To Jean, he said, “Pack our things. You help him,” he said to Pierre.

Pierre looked at his master, who nodded.

François looked strangely at Claudio. “To whom am I speaking, then?”

“Claudio du Fresne. From now on, call me that. Claude-Michel is dead,” he repeated,

absently touching the place over his heart with a stray hand. “Florentine, go get your

brother and tell him it is time to go.” She screwed up her face and threw down her book,

then fled to the small bedroom.

François glanced at her briefly, then turned his attention back to Claudio. He looked

worried. “Claude-Michel...what is it?” he asked.

Claudio smiled and batted his eyes at the other man. “I said not to call me that.”

François furrowed his brow. “What is wrong,
mon ami
?” he asked. “Why do we have

to leave?”

“Gunnar is here.”

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François’ jaw dropped. “Gunnar?” he repeated, closing his right hand as though

clutching an imaginary sword. “How?”

“I accompanied my son to a tavern, and he was there. I didn’t even hear him walk

behind me.”

François narrowed his eyes. “Where is he now, Claude-Mich—
merde
! Where is he

now?

“We killed him, my son Lucio and I. In the tavern.”

“He’s right,” Victoire said. “I came to warn him, but he had already gone.”

By then, Florentine and a cross-looking Bernardo were standing in the doorway.

I shook my head. “I don’t believe he is dead. He’s too—”

“We killed him!” Claudio shouted, advancing on me, gesturing. “His brain is full of

holes.”

“There will be an inquiry,” François said.

Claudio nodded. “Yes.”

“Where is your son now?” François asked.

“Gone,” Claudio said. “Gone from my life forever.”

François’ expression was a mixture of pity and relief. The next moment, he sprang

into action, clapping his hands. “Move quickly, pets. We have to go. Especially you, Jean.

I need you to get everything down to the carriage and be prepared to drive through the

night.”

Jean looked at his master, who sat on the couch with a hand over his eyes. Claudio

waved his hand vaguely in the air. “Do what he says,” he told him. Jean nodded and did

as he was told..

For some reason, I was frozen to the spot as though I wasn’t even there. François

noticed this. “Come on, come on!” he told me. “Get your things.”

I glanced back as Victoire sat beside Claudio to ask what he could do, then pulled

myself together and obeyed, part of me hating that I did what François said so readily.

He followed me into the small bedroom, where Florentine was face down on the bed,

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sobbing.

I went to her. “What’s wrong?” I asked. Bernardo stood by looking horrified.

“What’s going on?” François demanded. “Did you not hear what I told you to do?”

Florentine flipped over and scowled at him. “I don’t want to get my things!” she

shouted. “We just got here after two weeks in that horrible carriage. I want to stay here

for a while.”

“We can’t stay here right now,” I said, glancing at François. “We do have to go

quickly.”

François was across the room in a moment. He pulled Florentine off the bed and

forced her to look at him. “There are things at work here that you don’t understand,” he

said. “It is vitally important that you do what you’re told.”

Florentine glared at him. “Why?” she spat. “Are you afraid the villagers will come

with wooden stakes?”

I recognized the anger in François’ face and hurried around the bed to grab his arm.

“No, François,” I said. “She’s just frightened.”

He froze and narrowed his eyes. “Take your hand off, or so help me, you will be

next.”

For a moment, I didn’t move, unable to admit to myself that he frightened me almost

as much as Claudio did. But in the end, the threat of punishment did its trick, and I let him

have her. Florentine’s eyes grew wide and she tried to move away, but he flipped her over

the side of the bed with her bottom in the air before she could squeal. He pulled up her

skirts unceremoniously and bared her bottom as Bernardo looked on in horror. François

raised his hand high and spanked her hard, ignoring her crying and pleas for him to stop.

When he finished, he turned to Bernardo, who lowered his eyes and began to hurriedly

grab his things.

Sobbing, Florentine straightened her skirts.

“Because you were told to,” François said, and stalked from the room.

“What happened in there?” I heard Claudio ask.

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“Florentine doesn’t think it necessary to take orders from vampires,” he said. “But

she understands the urgency now.” There was a pause, and then: “I will take care of

everything for you,
mon ami
.”

* * * *

Jean asked where he was to drive.

“We will have to book passage on a ship,” Claudio said. “We are going to Paris.”

Jean pressed his lips together, nodded, and shot François and Victoire a look.

François blinked rapidly and tried to smile. “But Claude-Michel, we—”

“This has been the plan, François,” Claudio said impatiently. “When we finished with

Katarina’s son, we would return to Paris.” He then looked at his brother.

“I am with you, whatever you decide,” Victoire said.

“It is good someone is,” he said, and climbed into the carriage.

François did not try to hide his anger, pacing and gesturing as he spoke. “I just don’t

think, after all you’ve been through, Paris is the place to go. What if someone recognizes

you? What if the peasants want your head? What if they want
my
head?”

“Are you suddenly going to become a coward?” Claudio asked. “Were you not

onboard Gunnar’s ship with me to see what he is capable of? Tonight, with a dagger in

his eye, he spoke to me.”

François growled in frustration and climbed in after him. “I do not like this, Claude-

Michel.”

“We will go at night. We have advantages after the sun goes down.”

“If you insist,” François said.

The rest of us were already inside, Bernardo gazing silently out the back window

as Florentine huddled against me, beside him. Victoire had abandoned his carriage, and

now he and his boy sat across from Claudio and François. I watched them. I should have

known by the strange smile that came to François’ face later that day that he was up to

something.

* * * *

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That evening, when we stopped at an inn to rest the horses, François cheerfully

opened a bottle of wine in the room after Bernardo, Florentine and Pierre went to bed.

Jean remained with us, sitting at Claudio’s feet while his master absently stroked his

hair. Victoire watched Pierre go with some regret, I thought, and I wondered just how

much the two brothers had in common, whether Victoire used his driver in the same way

Claudio used Jean, and whether he was quick to punish. Then I wondered what Victoire

tasted like and had to turn my attention elsewhere.

“What is it like?” Victoire wanted to know. “Being a vampire?”

Claudio leaned forward, squeezing a fist. “I am strong, Victoire. Stronger than I have

ever been. And larger. You see for yourself.”

Victoire nodded. “You cannot eat…food?”

“I don’t know,” Claudio said. “I have not tried. Wine, I have tried, and I still love the

taste of it.”

Victoire handed him a bit of bread and Claudio accepted, biting into it and chewing

thoughtfully. “It is good still. But when I am hungry, I can think of nothing but the taste

of a beautiful neck.”

“Interesting,” Victoire said, and accepted a glass of wine from François.

“Still,” François said. “I have heard that wine does strange things to vampires.”

Everyone turned to him. “Like what?” I asked.

“Well…such as…going to their heads quickly. It is an occasional thing and nothing

to be alarmed about.”

“Where have you heard this?” Claudio asked, taking his glass from François.

“I once heard this long ago. But of course, I paid it no mind, because I did not

think vampires existed.” François took his own glass and sat with us, watching Claudio

closely.

Claudio did not drink. Instead, a strange expression came over his face as he sniffed

his wine. He turned a dark look on François and lowered the glass to the tea table, and

was in front of the other man in less than a second. Claudio took François’ glass out of

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his hands and sipped from it, giving him a sardonic smile. “It is very good, yes? Mine is

not so good.”

François tried to move out of his chair, but he did not move fast enough to escape the

back of Claudio’s hand across his cheek, which caused him to lose his balance and fall to

the floor, rubbing the blood from his lip. Jean was on his feet, watching attentively, ready

to spring into action.

Without thinking, I moved away, toward Victoire. “Claude-Michel!” I cried. “What

are you doing?” Already I could feel my fangs growing.

Victoire was quickly on his feet with a rapier in his hand.

“What are you trying to do?” Claudio bellowed. “Are you thinking to make me sleep

so you will have control of our little family?”

François shook his head. “Claude-Michel, I am only concerned for you. I want you to

rest well after your ordeal. I don’t want you to be forced to think and plan.”

“Then you suggest to me that I sleep, not ply me with potions!”

Victoire stood behind François, rapier pointed at the other man’s neck, glancing at

Claudio for instruction.

François turned his head just a fraction, but kept his attention on Claudio. “I am sorry,

Claude-Michel, I—”

“Get up,” Claudio said.

“What are you going to do?”

“Do what my brother says,” Victoire ordered.

François stood carefully, trying to turn toward Victoire, who pressed the tip of his