Blood Sisters_ Vampire Stories by Women - Paula Guran Page 0,75

wait until she was asleep and visit her then, and she would remember little more than a very pleasant dream. It is something we all learn to do in time, and it has its advantages upon occasion. But Madame Kunst is a bit of a puzzle. Her purpose for being here is not known to me, and it would not be sensible or wise to … be close to her. If she learned or guessed what I am, and wished me ill, she would have me at a distinct disadvantage. The Resistance might not mind taking off time from hunting Nazis and Nazi sympathizers to hunt a more old-fashioned menace. You must not forget that is how most of the world sees us—as menaces. I would not like to have to leave Montalia precipitately just now.” There had been many times in the past when he had had to take sudden flight in order to save himself: it was not a thing he wished to do again. “We must be circumspect, James.”

This was the first time Saint-Germain had addressed him by his Christian name, and it startled him. “Why do you call me James? Is it because of Mirelle?”

“Don’t be absurd.” Saint-Germain’s wry smile was clear in the advancing light.

“You’ve been calling me Mister Tree since I arrived here.” The tone of his statement was stubborn and James was plainly waiting for an answer.

“And you have not been calling me anything at all,” was Saint-Germain’s mild reply.

James faltered. “It’s that … I don’t know what to call you.”

“Is it?” Saint-Germain gestured toward the side door that led into the pantry. “This is the quickest way.”

As James was about to go in, there came the drone of planes overhead. He looked up, searching the sky, and at last, off to the north, saw a formation of shapes headed west. “I can’t tell whose they are,” he said quietly.

“American or British bombers back from their nighttime raids. They keep to the south of Paris for reasons of caution.” He held the door for James.

“This far south?” James wondered aloud, already stepping into the shadow of the doorway.

“It is possible, James. They have done it before. You have been here very little time and until last night, you were not paying much attention to the world around you.” There was no rebuke in what he said, and he felt none.

“True enough,” James allowed, and waited while Saint-Germain closed the door behind them and latched it. “Why bother?”

“The crofters around here are very insular, careful folk, like all French peasants. They respect and admire Madelaine because she is the Seigneur. Don’t look so surprised, Mister Tree. Surely you can understand this. The peasants are proud of their estate and they are protective of Montalia. Most of them think it is a great misfortune that the lines have passed through females for so long, but that makes them all the more determined to guard Madelaine. They know what she does—or part of it. They would beat their daughters senseless for taking lovers, but the Seigneurs are different, and her adventures provide them endless entertainment.”

They had come into the kitchen where Roger was cutting up a freshly killed chicken. He looked up from his task and regarded the two men quizzically. “I didn’t know you were outside.”

“James was taking the air, and I was coming back from checking the gatehouse,” Saint-Germain said. “You might want to purchase some eggs from the Widow Saejean. Her boy told Mirelle that times are hard for them just now.”

Roger nodded. “This afternoon.” He bent and sniffed the chicken. “They’re not able to feed them as well as they did.”

“We could purchase a few of our own, if that would help,” Saint-Germain suggested, but Roger shook his head.

“Better to buy them. If we bring chickens here, we won’t be able to feed them much better than the rest do, and they would resent it. We are still the foreigners, and it would not take much to have them remember it.” He began to cut up the bird with a long chef’s knife, letting the weight of the blade do much of the work.

“About Madame Kunst …” Saint-Germain prompted.

“Nothing more, my master. I have not been able to touch her valise, which is locked in any case. But I do know that it is heavy, heavier than it ought to be, considering her story.” Roger looked down at the chicken parts and smiled.

“Very good.” Saint-Germain motioned to the American. “Come, James. Let’s