Nicholas Velaystar walked up the steps of #6 Knightbridge house in Asphodel Meadows, slipping the newspaper under his arm and transferring the green glass wine bottle to his other hand as he began checking the mailbox. He turned over the heavy envelopes, inspecting them before adding them to the newspaper. Placing the wine bottle on top of the mailbox for a moment, he ran a hand down his woolen jacket, finding the keys to the door in his pocket. He fumbled a bit, twisting the to find the correct brass skeleton key and maintain his balance while ensuring the paper products under his arm did not find their way to the wet ground. In his movements, he bumped the mailbox occasionally and before he knew it, the bottle was tipping over and heading straight for the ground. That was till his firm hands grasped the bottle, mere inches from its cracked fate.
He sighed, closing his eyes. “She would kill me if you broke, ole boy.”
He held on to the bottle and the papers, placing the key in the lock and turning the knob, then walked into the sitting room, finding his employer awake and dressed for the evening. He smiled and nodded as he shut the door, making sure he locked it behind him.
“My lady, Good Evening,” He said softly, thinking as he clicked the locks about the recent break in at their home. She did not look up till he began walking towards her usual sitting place, behind one side of the desk, reading a novel of some sort.
“Good evening, Nicholas. How was your journey?” she said, smiling up at him, her pale features only more alluring in the candlelight. She was wearing a satin blue dress which drew out the unnatural blue of her eyes and enhanced the pale of her skin, her blond hair pinned in a low bun at the nape of her neck. Some of the front pieces of her hair had escaped and framed her face. She looked up at him, her eyes watching him as if he were under a magnifying glass.
“It was fine, my lady.” He said, examining his shoes in a desperate attempt to not look at her.
“Excellent. You have eaten, I hope?” She said, turning back to her book.
“I came straight here after collecting the paper. The shipment is at the dock and I have brought one as you requested. I have paid the man to deliver the rest in the morning. I have also retrieved the mail.” He placed the paper, the bottle and the envelopes on the desk near her.
She looked at him as a professor would look at a student over their spectacles. “Nicholas, how many times have I told you that you are not required to keep my hours? You must rest and you certainly must eat. Make your way to the Primrose and acquire some nourishment or go raid Cook’s larder. I will not have you expiring from exhaustion and malnourishment.”
He began to protest. “My lady…I don’t need…”
“Nicholas, eat! Also, what good is it paying a man to deliver things here during the day when the city is so covered with an industrial haze and fog that the sun does not shine?” She placed a nearby ribbon in the book and shut it, then leaned back in her chair. “Whoever burgled us knows what I have and perhaps will be watching to see what the next shipment is.” She sighed, placing the book on the desk with a small shove. “What did Theodore send this time?”
Nicholas looked down, defeated. “Poet, I believe, Madam.” He hated when she chided him.
Giada smiled at him. For all his human qualities, she did love when he looked like a small boy, which was quite difficult since the man of 19 years had to be at least 6’3”. His muscular frame and build was bit bulkier than she liked. His complexion was slightly olive in nature. He tanned well she remembered, thinking back to a time when she had awoken to him resting on a fainting couch, shirtless, after working with the other men on their Italian villa, the sun warming his skin to a dark brown. His long hair, desperately in need of a trimming held a ting of reddish tones to his brown locks. She tilted her head and stood up, walking over to him.
Nicholas stared at his shoes, not really out of respect but more fear of her. He knew what she was and what she was capable of. Under the façade of well bred upper class Lady of London, she was a vicious killer and he was just lucky enough to not be her particular taste. Still, something about her made him remain loyal. Perhaps it was her pity on him all those years ago. He was frequently rocked to his core in fright of her when she did get angry or vicious. He could not look her in the eye. She had to be at least a head and a half shorter than him as she stood next to him. She brushed a finger at his stubble filled chin and smiled.
“You need to shave, Nicholas. Go upstairs, have something to eat and rest in the bath. I have been working you too hard.”
Nicholas fell to his knees before her, his hands went to her corseted waist as his head felt to the fabric at her stomach, hugging her tightly. “Please, my lady. Tonight! Please take pity on me. I have been with you since I was 9 years of age. You have been a good woman and I have done all you have ever asked. I ask you this one thing. This one gift! Why do you deny me when you see how much I am suffering?” He looked up at her, tears in his eyes.
Giada opened her mouth to say something but hugged his head for a moment, rocking him as he wept on her gown. Maternal instincts were not her nature but when it came to Nicholas, she could not help herself. She put her hands on his cheeks, helping him rise to his feet.
“Come now, Nicholas. You know I can not.” She walked him to the stairs, urging him to go up. “As much as I desire to be your sire, I can not without Heinrich approval. Please, do me a service and listen to what I say. Go up, eat and rest. You will be no use to me, in any capacity, if you do not take care of yourself. I will write to him and discuss the matter.”
Defeated but at least stayed at the idea that she would at least consider it he nodded and walked up the stairs. He mumbled a soft, “Yes, m’lady,” as his heavy boots made their usual clunking sound as he walked to the small kitchen above.
Giada held onto the banister, listening to the sounds of the house upstairs. She heard Nicholas do as she asked, opening the icebox and various other pantries in the kitchen and finding something to eat.
She smiled and then turned, dousing a couple of candles with her fingertips as she walked back to the desk. Gathering her skirts, she placed her self down in the seat. She uncorked the bottle Nicholas brought, pouring the ruby liquid into a crystal glass nearby. She swirled the glass, smelling it, and then taking a small sip. Her eyebrows knitted together for a moment, the taste acrid but bearable on her tongue.
“Poet? Theo, I am not a Toreador.” She said out loud, her voice thick with sarcasm. “I really must find a live donor.” Setting the glass down, she began looking through the mail, her eyebrows raised as she glanced at the addresses on the paper.
Her face showed a look of boredom till she spied the red wax crest on the back of a thick envelope of parchment. She brushed aside the letters from her accountant, several letters from business associates and what looked like an invitation from the Palace to grab the paper that held her attention. She turned the thick piece of mail over, reading the return address.
“Lisbon. Interesting,” She said, breaking the seal and opening the letter.
She read the letter, the script on the page, solid and carefully written. No ink drops or speckles dotted the paper as if the writer took extreme care to pen the note. It read,
“Madam Bedrosian,”
“Thank you for taking the time to write me, dear friend. By the time you receive this letter, your Nicholas should be returned to you along with the shipment you requested. Nicholas was very well protected, per your request, and will remain so until the shipment has arrived to your home in London. If you are ever in need of anything, my friend, all you must do is ask. You know your business is always appreciated and welcome in my port.”
“As to your issue with the vitae, I have recently discovered that it is not that your tastes have changed. Yours, as well as Heinrich’s remain intact but that my host was not of the same bloodline. The liar has been dispatched. Not to worry. The shipment I have sent you is very unique and Heinrich seems to enjoy it. I procured the sample on a recent trip to America and thought we could use some New World flavor in our diets. I thought of you especially as your nose was planted in many a book when I last saw you. Please do write and let me know how you receive it. I have also been reading in some journals about studies done on blood that may be of interest to you. If I am allowed to see you in London, we will discuss them at length.”
“It is of no shock to learn that you were sent to London. Although, you have often told me politics were not your particular game of choice. As for the tone of your letter, madam, please write back quickly to let me know that you are alright. If the businesses and if you are correct, even the government are being effected by this darkness, as you call it, then it is only a matter of time before utter chaos is afflicted upon everyone in the city and even the Queen will be useless to stop it. Also, this business about certain people being targeted is all the more reason for you to remain under cover. Or at the very least, do not arouse suspicion."
Our plans, thus far, is to all convene in France in about a week and it will be decided upon if we shall all come or if you will only see one of us. I know Erik is under the impression that Heinrich will send him. Either way, you are to remain, as always, vigilant and inform us of anything that is happening in London that you feel is pertinent. I have enclosed a forwarding address for us in France."
"Madam, your humble servent,"
"Theodore Gaston”
Giada set the letter down and leaned back in her chair. She let out a deep sigh and downed the liquid in her glass, a small droplet falling down her porcelain chin. She took the unladylike step to wipe it off with her fingertips and then lick them clean.
“Erik”. She said, her cheeks turning slightly crimson as the word left her lips.
She shook her head and grabbed one of her pens, opening the inkwell slowly. Sliding her hand down to procure a several pieces of parchment from a nearby drawer she prepared to write a response to Theo.
She tapped the pen gently, removing the excess ink and penned a note.
“Monsieur Gaston,”
“What a pleasure it was to see your pen to paper on the desk before me. I assure you I am quite well, as the shipment you have sent is very much a delight to my senses. Poet, Theodore? I do love poetry. How nice of you to remember that I am quite the bookworm. Are you certain, my dear Theo, he is deceased? You know how writers can be these days, all melancholy and tragic. It can be very difficult to know for sure.”
“I will await news of your arrival with eager anticipation but I do request one thing from you. Please persuade with every fiber of your being to ensure Heinrich does not send Erik. Theo, I beg you. I have no doubt you know some portion our history. If you ever cared for me, do whatever you can to ensure Erik is not chosen. The thing I need the least in London at this time is Erik Arnhvatr.”
“Theodore, I implore you. Send anyone but Erik.”
“Comme toujours, votre ami, (As always, your friend)”
“Madam Giada Bedrosian"
She signed the letter with a flourish and replaced the inkwell and pen. Opening one of the drawers of the desk, she pulled out some wax and her sealer, adorned with a crest. She examined the seal while waiting for the red wax to heat up over the nearby candle. The crest, adorned with what looked like a scepter in the center, was interlaced with other symbols. Nothing to note of any family in England or even Europe and to arouse prying eyes to where the note perhaps came from. Quickly folding and then scrolling the address on the front of the envelope, Giada poured the wax and sealed the paper. She then leaned over, blowing out the flame of the nearby candle, encasing the room in total darkness.