said.
“Thank you.”
Forgetting to close the door, Frederick swept past Honoré and made his way through the house to the dining room. There he found her sitting at the head of the table, resplendent in the finest silks, her dark red hair contrasting with the lighter shades of her dress. She looked up from her food, raised an eyebrow at Frederick’s haste, and offered him an empty wine glass.
“ Mes toujours , a pleasure as ever. What brings you here in such a hurry?”
Frederick sat himself at the table and took the glass, allowing Celeste to pour the red liquid out of the crystal decanter. He returned her smile, and sipped before beginning. “I have received a missive, an invitation from the Ancient himself.” Still hardly able to believe his eyes, Frederick handed the parchment over.
Celeste quietly read the script. Once finished she carefully placed it on the table and raised her pale eyes to look at Frederick. “Moldavia. A long journey, Frederick, and a treacherous one. But such a summons cannot be ignored.” She smiled and reached a hand out to him, which he took and held in his. “Perhaps you shall now have answers to these questions?”
“It would seem most probable. And, of course I shall go, how can I not? There have been reports of the Ancient for many years, but none have been substantiated in decades. Just rumour. And now Wamukota wishes to see… me ? Why me? Why now?”
“You question too much, mes toujours , I have always said so. You always want to know things with certainty, to be sure and have no doubt. Such yearnings lead to a closed mind.”
Frederick shook his head. “No, questions should be asked. Always.”
“Perhaps, but some answers are best left unknown.”
“Like the Second Death?” Frederick said softly, disturbed by the quake in his voice. “It is coming soon, Celeste, I know it. I understood Honoré with perfect clarity.”
Celeste took this news with grace. She knew Honoré spoke only French, and she knew how difficult Frederick found learning their native tongue. She smiled sadly, and placed a hand on his face. “I will miss seeing these eyes, but you know what must be done.”
For a moment neither spoke another word.
Frederick swallowed. “We shall see,” he said, and bent down to kiss Celeste. She returned the kiss with passion. “I shall return as soon as I am able. With answers,” he added.
Celeste raised her glass. “To answers, may they be all you wish. And when you return, may you be as young and vibrant as when we met.”
Frederick bowed, then turned to leave. It was, as Celeste said, a long and treacherous journey ahead, through countries at war. Always, it seemed, humans were fighting over something. He shook his head. It did not matter. He would make it to Moldavia and meet with the Ancient, the oldest of their kind. And he would find a way to escape the Second Death…somehow.
* * *
Part Two: 21st Century
Newington Green, England, 2002.
“I don’t know, Jake,” Willem said into his phone, as he stepped out of the cafe. He found a free table and sat down, placing the carrier bag on his lap and cracking open the can of Pepsi. It was a hot day and he was parched. Downing a can of drink while resting his legs sounded like a good plan. “You say that but there’s something about Cruise, you know?”
“Like what? He’s an okay actor, I guess,” returned Jake, the slight Californian lilt of his accent still there, despite twenty years of living in London, “but he picks such crap movies, guy.”
“You said you rated Minority Report, ” Willem pointed out, lifting the box out of the carrier bag. An old man, on a course for the cafe, stumbled over a loose paving-stone and almost knocked the box out of Willem’s arm.
“So sorry,” the old man said, as Willem fought to steady him with his free hand.
“It’s okay, man,” Willem returned. The man gathered himself together, and for a moment he remained standing there, looking at
“Thank you.”
Forgetting to close the door, Frederick swept past Honoré and made his way through the house to the dining room. There he found her sitting at the head of the table, resplendent in the finest silks, her dark red hair contrasting with the lighter shades of her dress. She looked up from her food, raised an eyebrow at Frederick’s haste, and offered him an empty wine glass.
“ Mes toujours , a pleasure as ever. What brings you here in such a hurry?”
Frederick sat himself at the table and took the glass, allowing Celeste to pour the red liquid out of the crystal decanter. He returned her smile, and sipped before beginning. “I have received a missive, an invitation from the Ancient himself.” Still hardly able to believe his eyes, Frederick handed the parchment over.
Celeste quietly read the script. Once finished she carefully placed it on the table and raised her pale eyes to look at Frederick. “Moldavia. A long journey, Frederick, and a treacherous one. But such a summons cannot be ignored.” She smiled and reached a hand out to him, which he took and held in his. “Perhaps you shall now have answers to these questions?”
“It would seem most probable. And, of course I shall go, how can I not? There have been reports of the Ancient for many years, but none have been substantiated in decades. Just rumour. And now Wamukota wishes to see… me ? Why me? Why now?”
“You question too much, mes toujours , I have always said so. You always want to know things with certainty, to be sure and have no doubt. Such yearnings lead to a closed mind.”
Frederick shook his head. “No, questions should be asked. Always.”
“Perhaps, but some answers are best left unknown.”
“Like the Second Death?” Frederick said softly, disturbed by the quake in his voice. “It is coming soon, Celeste, I know it. I understood Honoré with perfect clarity.”
Celeste took this news with grace. She knew Honoré spoke only French, and she knew how difficult Frederick found learning their native tongue. She smiled sadly, and placed a hand on his face. “I will miss seeing these eyes, but you know what must be done.”
For a moment neither spoke another word.
Frederick swallowed. “We shall see,” he said, and bent down to kiss Celeste. She returned the kiss with passion. “I shall return as soon as I am able. With answers,” he added.
Celeste raised her glass. “To answers, may they be all you wish. And when you return, may you be as young and vibrant as when we met.”
Frederick bowed, then turned to leave. It was, as Celeste said, a long and treacherous journey ahead, through countries at war. Always, it seemed, humans were fighting over something. He shook his head. It did not matter. He would make it to Moldavia and meet with the Ancient, the oldest of their kind. And he would find a way to escape the Second Death…somehow.
* * *
Part Two: 21st Century
Newington Green, England, 2002.
“I don’t know, Jake,” Willem said into his phone, as he stepped out of the cafe. He found a free table and sat down, placing the carrier bag on his lap and cracking open the can of Pepsi. It was a hot day and he was parched. Downing a can of drink while resting his legs sounded like a good plan. “You say that but there’s something about Cruise, you know?”
“Like what? He’s an okay actor, I guess,” returned Jake, the slight Californian lilt of his accent still there, despite twenty years of living in London, “but he picks such crap movies, guy.”
“You said you rated Minority Report, ” Willem pointed out, lifting the box out of the carrier bag. An old man, on a course for the cafe, stumbled over a loose paving-stone and almost knocked the box out of Willem’s arm.
“So sorry,” the old man said, as Willem fought to steady him with his free hand.
“It’s okay, man,” Willem returned. The man gathered himself together, and for a moment he remained standing there, looking at
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