Fevre Dream Page 0,9

is on them. Bring her to the ballroom when she is ready."

"Yes," Sour Billy said quickly. "There was trouble at the auction, Mister Julian."

"Trouble?"

"A Creole sharper, name of Montreuil. He wanted her too, didn't like being outbid. Think he might get curious. He's a gambler, seen a lot around the gaming rooms. Want me to take care of him some night?"

"Tell me about him," Julian commanded. His voice was liquid, soft and deep and sensuous, rich as a fine cognac.

"Young, dark. Black eyes, black hair. Tall. A duelist, they say. Hard man. Strong and lean, but he's got a pretty face, like so many of them do."

"I will see to him," Damon Julian said.

"Yes, sir," said Sour Billy Tipton. He turned and went back to his rooms.

Emily was transformed when she slipped into the brocade gown. Slave and child alike vanished; washed and dressed properly, she was a woman of dark, almost ethereal beauty. Sour Billy inspected her carefully. "You'll do," he said. "Come, you're goin' to a ball."

The ballroom was the largest and grandest chamber in the house, lit by three huge cut-glass chandeliers burning with a hundred tiny candles. Bayou landscapes done in rich oils hung on the walls, and the floors were beautifully polished wood. At one end of the room wide double doors opened out onto a foyer; at the other, a great staircase rose and branched off to either side, its banisters gleaming.

They were waiting when Sour Billy led her in.

Nine of them were on hand, including Julian himself; six men, three women, the men in dark suits of European cut, the women in pale silken gowns. Except for Julian, they waited on the staircase, still and silent, respectful. Sour Billy knew them all: the pale women who called themselves Adrienne and Cynthia and Valerie, dark handsome Raymond with the boy's face, Kurt whose eyes burned like hot coals, all the others. One of them, Jean, trembled slightly as he waited, his lips pulled back from long white teeth, his hand moving in small spasms. The thirst was on him badly, but he did not act. He waited for Damon Julian. All of them waited for Damon Julian.

Julian walked across the ballroom to the slave girl Emily. He moved with the stately grace of a cat. He moved like a lord, like a king. He moved like darkness flowing, liquid and inevitable. He was a dark man, somehow, though his skin was very pale; his hair was black and curling, his clothing somber, his eyes glittering flint.

He stopped before her and smiled. Julian had a charming, sophisticated smile. "Exquisite," he said simply.

Emily blushed and stammered. "Shut up," Sour Billy told her sharply. "Don't you talk unless Mister Julian tells you to."

Julian ran his finger along one soft, dark cheek, and the girl trembled and tried to stand still. He stroked her hair languidly, then raised her face toward his and let his eyes drink from her own. At that Emily shied and cried out with alarm, but Julian placed his hands on either side of her face, and would not let her look away. "Lovely," he said. "You are beautiful, child. We appreciate beauty here, all of us." He released her face, took one of her small hands in his own, raised it, and turned it over and bowed to plant a soft kiss on the inside of her wrist.

The slave girl was still shaking, but she did not resist. Julian turned her slightly, and gave her arm to Sour Billy Tipton. "Will you do the honors, Billy?"

Sour Billy reached behind him, and pulled the knife from the sheath in the small of his back. Emily's dark eyes bulged wide and frightened and she tried to pull away, but he had a firm grip on her and he was fast, very fast. The blade had scarcely come into view and suddenly it was wet; a single swift slash across the inside of her wrist, where Julian had planted his lips. Blood welled from the wound and began to drip onto the floor, the patters loud in the stillness of the ballroom.

Briefly the girl whimpered, but before she quite knew what was happening Sour Billy had sheathed his knife and stepped away and Julian had taken her hand again. He raised her slim arm up once more, and bent his lips to her wrist, and began to suck.

Sour Billy retreated to the door. The others left the stair and came closer, the women's gowns whispering softly.