The Story of the Vampire, L (Completed | Featured )

Part 5 - December, 2012

At exactly 7pm, a quiet knock came at the door. I typed to Matteo on the laptop, "He's here."

"Protect your neck," he wrote back.

I called to the person knocking and the knocking came again, as quietly.

"Is it you?" I asked, moving to open it.

"May I come in? I have some papers to look over. It is quite overwarm," I heard, from the other side.

I opened it and Dasius stood still, backlit by the cheap track-lighting in the hotel hallway. "Gag me, it is warm out here," I said. "Were you followed? Come in."

His dark hair was cut short and combed into a handsome side part. In the low light, he seemed young to me, but his step betrayed him, revealing him as cautious but self-assured. He pressed his briefcase to the luggage rack by the closet and gestured at the hot water machine by the vanity. "I may have been. I may have been. There may not be much time. Make me a cup of tea, would you?"

"You? Followed? Who would follow you? It was a joke," I said, watching him slip off his coat. It was black and lined with silk damask on the inside, cuffed with small silver buttons. Since taking a lover, he had been looking quite modern to me.

"Gag you? Gladly. Tea, please," he said, rubbing his eyes and striding out onto the balcony.

When he wasn't looking, I picked up his coat and slipped it on. "Oh Jesus Christ," I whispered, at the touch of silk. It was a size too large on my body, and hit too low on the thigh, but it made me feel like a duchess on a winter cruise. I kept the coat on while his tea brewed, and brought the bone china teacup to him on the balcony, where he had crossed his legs at the glass-topped table and unbuttoned his shirt to the collarbones.

"What's that, a linen blend?" I asked, setting down his tea and gesturing to his shirt.

"It is not a blend, you cunt."

"Yeah, you sound just like him," I said.

"Who?" he asked, picking up the teacup and taking a deep breath in of its smell.

"You know exactly who I mean." I stuck up my pinkie finger and affected a nasal purr, headed back inside to get his briefcase, " 'Oh, putain, what are you wearing? Putain, is that a blend? Putain, why is this silver? If it is silver, it should be white gold. Putain, if you do not have the taste to dress yourself, all you had to do was tell me. White shoes? Are you a prostitute? If you needed money you could have asked. ' "

I set the briefcase next to his chair and sat down across from him. He was looking over the view, perhaps admiring the many lights which were just beginning to flicker on over Boston, his home city, as evening deepened. Steam rose from his tea, quickly cooling in the freezing air, and swept up his face. He feigned a sip, touching the scalding water to his already blushing lips.

"No?" I asked.

"I have nothing to say," he said, making a soft sound of approval. "Your impression of our mutual friend is good."

"Laurent was always criticizing my taste. 'Stripes? Are you a horse? Is this Monaco? Rose gold? My darling, with your coloring, it looks like a rash. Turn down the lights. The dark suits him, yes, ca pute. ' "

Dasius smiled behind his teacup, "Are you always on stage, darling? Why are you performing for me? Give me your pages and we will talk about them."

I produced the chapter from a low table near the door, and passed it to him across the table. He swept an errant lock of hair from his forehead and took it, blinking his eyes hard.