Page 36 of Besieger
During her stay at the Coven, Mihaela had picked up German lessons from anyone who would spare the time. Sometimes she lost hours poring over newspapers and trying to find words in dictionaries. Scarlett was the most obliging of her new family, but lately the number of French vampires inhabiting the Coven had become alarming.
Weren’t Silvio and Emerick living in France?She had not seen them since they had left her here.
A shadow crossed the vampire’s face and his step faltered, as if echoing her thoughts.
“Are you a pastor?” Mihaela asked.
The man’s clothes suggested that his only service to the church was donating money so it would not bother him. He was dressed in an expensive-looking suit, his leather shoes polished to perfection, and there was a little gem in his tie clip. When he raised a hand to his chest in greeting, another gem in his cufflink caught the light.
“No, mistress. I have found my calling elsewhere.” He waited a beat to give her the opportunity to ask. Mihaela’s fingers played with the Bible’s pages as she waited, in silence. “My name is Jean-Étienne and by marriage to the Countess, that would make me Count di Flaviari.”
He pronounced the title and name with such smugness Mihaela almost felt sorry for him; how disappointing to try to impress someone for whom these names and titles meant nothing. She disliked being addressed asmistress, it felt unearned. Similar to how she felt about Ingenuar wanting to be her father-in-blood.
Mortals could not choose their parents, but immortals chose their children. Ingenuar had taken her by force and, in return, given her a gift—a legacy she increasingly regretted. Being a vampire was far simpler and easier when she was on her own with Astra.
Jean-Étienne continued to stand there, expecting a reaction.
“Right…” Mihaela began and closed the good book.
Will there be fewer Frenchmen if I go to France?she wondered.
Silvio had extended an invitation to her long ago, and now it suddenly felt timely. She had skimmed through and read everything of interest in the Coven’s library, even being bold enough to ask the residents to let her browse through their personal collections.
Most vampires did not carry books with them when they visited. They left behind newspapers, train tickets, torn theatre bills. The few volumes they did bring along were dated and reminiscent of the year of their visits. Sometimes the books were so old the pages had yellowed and the ink had faded to illegibility. Mihaela wanted books on history, theology and alchemy, but she could not make sense of the Old German or Old Norse in the few tomes that piqued her interest.
Scarlett mentioned there were other places of vampire gathering: smaller covens, the homes of the Regents and their consorts. Silvio was one of these Regents, who presided in France, but there were Regents in Greece and Turkey as well—vampire mistresses who had served the All Father long before theMarquis. They kept their own archives, their own history and rules. Mihaela was free to travel to them if they would have her. Scarlett offered to write letters of introduction to both theBasilissain Athens, and theSultanain Antalya. The destinations sounded both intriguing and frightening. They would also bring her closer to her mortal homeland.
Maybe I should visit theMarquisfirst. Get on a plane or a train and—
The man, Jean-Étienne, leaned over the table and pulled a piece of paper. He squinted at Mihaela’s scribbles and she was thankful for her horrid handwriting in Bulgarian: her recent topic of research was nothing shameful or dangerous, but it would invite questions and she preferred Ingenuar didn’t find out about her past through gossip. Sooner or later she would have to talk to him about her situation and tell him about Astra. But she needed to do reading further than the Bible before confronting the All Father.
“You’re French, right?” Mihaela asked as she collected her things.
“Yes?”
“Where is the French Coven—Paris?”
There was a pause and the mirth drained from the man’s face. He let the paper slip from his hand and fall on the table, rubbing his fingers as if he had touched something unclean.
“It’s in Béziers,” he said so matter-of-factly that Mihaela had to bite her tongue. She had never heard about Béziers, and the way he said the name was strange, acerbic.
“Oh…” Mihaela made a mental note to ask Scarlett where Béziers was located. And add in another letter of introduction, too. “What’s it like there? Is it like here—do all kinds of vampires come and go? And do they have human servants? In fact, why is that? Isn’t it weird? It’s weird, right?”
“I wouldn’t know. I’m not part of the French Coven,” Jean-Étienne’s face was struggling to keep a neutral expression, but she could hear his teeth grinding as he spoke.
She stopped tucking her notes between the pages of a dictionary, and looked at him, really looked at him.
“I thought vampires had to belong to covens?”
“Not necessarily. We are free to choose, but it is also at the discretion of the coven master.”
The man began to step away from her and circle around the room. He walked over to the piano and ran his fingers across the keys, giving them the slightest bit of pressure, teasing out a few notes.
“You can live outside a coven, ortheCoven, or you can serve a Regent’s court. I reside in Paris but I am not part of theMarquis’ court.”
He struck the keys and the instrument groaned. Mihaela could not see his face but she noted how stiff his body had become, as if he was trying to restrain himself.
“TheMarquishas denied me entrance to his court. My wife and I are not welcome in Béziers.”
