Amaury asked, turning to Philipp, one of the reclusive tenants in the building.
“Didn’t you hear? She’s in the hospital.”
Amaury felt a stab in his chest. He’d fed from her the night before, and now she was in the hospital. What had he done?
“The hospital?” A chill crept up his spine.
“Yeah, she’s in bad shape.” Philipp craned his neck to look at the tray in Amaury’s hands. “That smells good. Is that French food?”
“Yeah, sure. Take it.”
Amaury pressed the tray into Philipp’s hands and turned away before the man could even thank him. He rushed up the stairs and back into his apartment, slamming the door shut behind him.
The poor woman. The sweet old lady. He’d taken too much from her, and now she was paying the price. What if she didn’t recover? What if she died?
His strength left him, and he fell to his knees, guilt blasting through him. He’d lost control. He’d taken too much. It was true, he was a monster. And it was happening again. He was killing again. Just like back then. He hadn’t changed at all. After four hundred years he was still the same cruel monster.
A murderer.
***
France, 1609
Amaury’s struggles to support his family would soon be over. He’d made a decision. The offer he’d received a week earlier was as good as any he would ever get. And for all he knew, the man who’d introduced himself only by his first name, Hervé, would pay for something Amaury wouldn’t even need to deliver. He only half believed the story anyway.
The moonlight helped him find the path to the small bridge where he’d agreed to meet Hervé. If everything went well, Amaury would be paid well to let the man feed off him nightly, well enough to make sure his wife and his son would have enough to eat and clothes on their backs. Already, he’d received a few sous as a token of the man’s honest intent.
It was the love for his family that drove him to this desperate act. So what if some rich man had a fetish and wanted to drink somebody’s blood? If he was willing to pay for it, Amaury was prepared to take the momentary pain and endure it. How bad could it be?
The bridge was drenched in moonlight. Except for the tall shadow of a man, nobody else was around. There had been reports of attacks by wild animals, and not many inhabitants were brave enough to venture out after dark. Nobody would witness what was about to happen.
As Amaury approached the man, he wondered whether he was doing the right thing, but remembering the gaunt looks of his wife and son, he knew he couldn’t go back.
The moment Hervé’s face came into view, he saw the man’s fangs gleam in the moonlight. There was no denying it now: he was a vampire, just as he’d claimed. A cold shiver ran down Amaury’s spine, and the little hairs on the back of his neck rose.
“Faites-le vite.” The quicker this was over, the better.
Amaury held out his hand and felt the cold coins in his palm a second later. The prick of the fangs on his neck was only painful for a split second, then he fell into a state as if he’d had too much wine, a drunken stupor. Not unpleasant.
But when he wanted to pull away from Hervé, he couldn’t. The man wouldn’t let him go, and despite his huge frame, Amaury was no match for the man’s inhuman strength. The vampire’s fangs dug deeper into him, and more blood drained from his body. His vision became blurred, his legs weak, until he collapsed.
Amaury awoke with a thirst the likes of which he’d never known. A thirst for blood. Hervé had tricked him. He hadn’t merely wanted to feed off him—he’d wanted to turn him into a vampire. And he had. To build a community, a family of sorts.
But Amaury had a family, a family of his own, and they needed him. He didn’t listen to Hervé who warned him that he was a danger to them now. Instead, he ran home, ignoring his thirst.
The first person he found upon his return was his son Jean-Philippe. With his tiny bare feet the boy ran
“Didn’t you hear? She’s in the hospital.”
Amaury felt a stab in his chest. He’d fed from her the night before, and now she was in the hospital. What had he done?
“The hospital?” A chill crept up his spine.
“Yeah, she’s in bad shape.” Philipp craned his neck to look at the tray in Amaury’s hands. “That smells good. Is that French food?”
“Yeah, sure. Take it.”
Amaury pressed the tray into Philipp’s hands and turned away before the man could even thank him. He rushed up the stairs and back into his apartment, slamming the door shut behind him.
The poor woman. The sweet old lady. He’d taken too much from her, and now she was paying the price. What if she didn’t recover? What if she died?
His strength left him, and he fell to his knees, guilt blasting through him. He’d lost control. He’d taken too much. It was true, he was a monster. And it was happening again. He was killing again. Just like back then. He hadn’t changed at all. After four hundred years he was still the same cruel monster.
A murderer.
***
France, 1609
Amaury’s struggles to support his family would soon be over. He’d made a decision. The offer he’d received a week earlier was as good as any he would ever get. And for all he knew, the man who’d introduced himself only by his first name, Hervé, would pay for something Amaury wouldn’t even need to deliver. He only half believed the story anyway.
The moonlight helped him find the path to the small bridge where he’d agreed to meet Hervé. If everything went well, Amaury would be paid well to let the man feed off him nightly, well enough to make sure his wife and his son would have enough to eat and clothes on their backs. Already, he’d received a few sous as a token of the man’s honest intent.
It was the love for his family that drove him to this desperate act. So what if some rich man had a fetish and wanted to drink somebody’s blood? If he was willing to pay for it, Amaury was prepared to take the momentary pain and endure it. How bad could it be?
The bridge was drenched in moonlight. Except for the tall shadow of a man, nobody else was around. There had been reports of attacks by wild animals, and not many inhabitants were brave enough to venture out after dark. Nobody would witness what was about to happen.
As Amaury approached the man, he wondered whether he was doing the right thing, but remembering the gaunt looks of his wife and son, he knew he couldn’t go back.
The moment Hervé’s face came into view, he saw the man’s fangs gleam in the moonlight. There was no denying it now: he was a vampire, just as he’d claimed. A cold shiver ran down Amaury’s spine, and the little hairs on the back of his neck rose.
“Faites-le vite.” The quicker this was over, the better.
Amaury held out his hand and felt the cold coins in his palm a second later. The prick of the fangs on his neck was only painful for a split second, then he fell into a state as if he’d had too much wine, a drunken stupor. Not unpleasant.
But when he wanted to pull away from Hervé, he couldn’t. The man wouldn’t let him go, and despite his huge frame, Amaury was no match for the man’s inhuman strength. The vampire’s fangs dug deeper into him, and more blood drained from his body. His vision became blurred, his legs weak, until he collapsed.
Amaury awoke with a thirst the likes of which he’d never known. A thirst for blood. Hervé had tricked him. He hadn’t merely wanted to feed off him—he’d wanted to turn him into a vampire. And he had. To build a community, a family of sorts.
But Amaury had a family, a family of his own, and they needed him. He didn’t listen to Hervé who warned him that he was a danger to them now. Instead, he ran home, ignoring his thirst.
The first person he found upon his return was his son Jean-Philippe. With his tiny bare feet the boy ran
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