Fevre Dream by George R.R. Martin Page A

Billy said. “They’ll come to eat and they’ll see how far it’s gone. Isn’t safe. They’ll tell stories when they go home.”
    “If they go home, Billy.”
    “Damon,” Jean said shakily, “you can’t mean . . .”
    The dim, red-drenched room was hot. Sour Billy had begun to sweat. “Neville is—please, Mister Julian, you can’t take Neville. You can’t go on takin’ folks from around here and buyin’ fancy girls.”
    “Your creature is right for once,” Valerie said in a very small voice. “Listen to him.” Jean was nodding too, emboldened by having others on his side.
    “We could sell the whole place,” Billy said. “It’s all rotted out anyhow. Move to New Orleans, all of us. It’d be better down there. With all them Creoles and free niggers and river trash, a few more or less won’t be missed, you know?”
    “No,” said Damon Julian. Icily. His voice told them he would stand no further argument. Sour Billy shut up real quick. Jean began to toy with his ring again, his mouth sullen and afraid.
    But Valerie, astoundingly, spoke up. “Let
us
go, then.”
    Julian turned his head languidly. “Us?”
    “Jean and I,” she said. “Send us away. It will be . . . better that way. For you, too. It’s safer when there are fewer of us. Your fancy girls will last longer.”
    “Send you away, dear Valerie? Why, I would miss you. And I would be concerned for you, too. Where would you go, I wonder?”
    “Somewhere. Anywhere.”
    “Do you still hope to find your dark city in a cave?” Julian said mockingly. “Your faith is touching, child. Have you mistaken poor weak Jean for your pale king?”
    “No,” said Valerie. “No. We only want a rest. Please, Damon. If we all stay, they will find us out, hunt us, kill us. Let us go away.”
    “You are so beautiful, Valerie. So exquisite.”
    “Please,”
she said, trembling. “Away. A rest.”
    “Poor small Valerie,” Julian said. “There is no rest. Wherever you go, your thirst will travel with you. No, you shall stay.”
    “Please,”
she repeated, numbly. “My bloodmaster.”
    Damon Julian’s dark eyes narrowed just slightly, and the smile faded. “If you are that eager to be away, perhaps I should give you what you ask for.”
    Both Valerie and Jean looked at him hopefully.
    “Perhaps I should send you away,” Julian mused. “Both of you. But not together, no. You are so beautiful, Valerie. You deserve better than Jean. What do you think, Billy?”
    Sour Billy smirked. “Send them all away, Mister Julian. You don’t need them none. You got me. Send them off, and they’ll see how much they like it.”
    “Interesting,” said Damon Julian. “I will think on it. Now leave me, all of you. Billy, go sell the horses. See Neville about the land.”
    “No dinner?” Sour Billy asked with relief.
    “No,” said Julian.
    Sour Billy was the last to reach the door. Behind him, Julian snuffed the light, and darkness filled the room. But Sour Billy hesitated at the threshold, and turned back again.
    “Mister Julian,” he said, “your promise—it’s been years now. When?”
    “When I do not need you, Billy. You are my eyes by day. You do the things I cannot. How could I spare you now? But have no fear. It will not be long. And time will seem as nothing to you when you join us. Years and days are alike to one who has the life eternal.” The promise filled Sour Billy with reassurance. He left to do Julian’s bidding.
    That night he dreamt. In his dreams he was as dark and graceful as Julian himself, elegant and predatory. It was always night in his dreams, and he roamed the streets of New Orleans beneath a full, pale moon. They watched him pass from their windows and their little iron-lace balconies, and he could feel their eyes upon him, the men full of fear, the women drawn to his dark power. Through the dark he stalked them, gliding soundlessly over the brick sidewalks, hearing their frantic footsteps and their panting. Beneath the