Blood Sisters_ Vampire Stories by Women - Paula Guran Page 0,30

who will inspire him beyond mere banality. More, nourish him.”

Words escaped me. I knew not what to answer, or if an answer was at all required. I only knew that we seemed to stand there for an eternity. And as we stood together, locked in an embrace, his eyes drew me until I felt myself dimming, willingly. I knew in those moments I would offer up to him whatever he needed, whatever he wanted.

“Miss Balcombe. It is so nice to see you. And may I enquire, who is your friend?”

The voice of the Reverend Sean Manchester broke the moment. Suddenly it was as though I’d been under a spell. I felt stunned, aware that I’d not heard the birds or felt the intense heat for some time. But rather than perceiving the good Reverend’s voice as a lifeline, cast toward a drowning swimmer, I felt it an intrusion. With some effort, I forced myself back to the surface of the waters known as reality.

“Reverend Manchester, may I introduce Mister Oscar Wilde. You will have heard of him, no doubt. He is an aspiring poet, who has already had work published.”

“Indeed. I have heard much.”

“And I’m certain you shall hear more in future. There is only one thing in the world worse than being talked about,” Oscar said, “and that is not being talked about.”

The two men shook hands, but perfunctorily. I was dismayed at this adversarial climate between them. I knew it could not be me, for after all, Reverend Manchester was an older gentleman, married a number of years, with several nearly grown children. I could not have known at the time the entirety of this wedge, but I soon had an inkling of its nature.

“You are a young man and already famous throughout the British Isles.”

“Don’t you mean infamous?”

“Infamy implies sin.”

“There is no sin except stupidity.”

“If you believe not in sin, I presume then that you also give no credence to conscience.”

“Conscience and cowardice are really the same things.”

“Then, sir, in your opinion, why do men go astray?”

“Simply, temptation. The only way to get rid of a temptation is to give in to it, it seems to me.”

“Oscar!” I felt compelled to interject a note of sanity, for things had got out of hand. Even a poet should respect a man of the cloth. “Surely you believe in salvation! You were raised a Christian, were you not?”

At this, he turned to me again. A small, crooked smile played over those lips, and his eyes again compelled me to focus on him exclusively. That same potent pull threatened to overwhelm me, although his words kept me from sinking. “Florrie, dearest, we are all in the gutter, but some of us are looking at the stars.”

“Heaven might be a better destination,” Reverend Manchester said, “although there is an alternative.”

“And that, I presume, is Hell. Well, Reverend, I have visited that place and not, I suspect, for the last time. I have found it wanting.”

Reverend Manchester said nothing more, but the look in his eyes spoke volumes. The church bells were tolling madly, the service about to begin. “I must attend to my parishioners,” he said perfunctorily, and, almost as an afterthought, “It is good we have met, Mister Wilde.”

“Yes. A man cannot be too careful in the choice of his enemies.”

Reverend Manchester looked startled by this blatant statement. But in my eyes, Oscar had merely said what was evident—the two men did not see eye to eye, although I should have thought ‘enemy’ too strong a word.

Reverend Manchester excused himself. Oscar turned to me. Before I had the chance to collect my thoughts, he grasped my shoulders and quickly pressed his lips to mine. I was shocked. Embarrassed. Titillated. I scanned the small group of parishioners; none had seen this outrageous act, including my parents, thank God!

When I looked again at Oscar, all of this evident on my face, no doubt, something strange occurred. The contrast between us struck me. His face had become ruddy, while I felt light-headed and pale. He seemed sure of himself, whilst I, on the other hand, had been knocked entirely off balance. As I stared at him, time became irrelevant. The importance of my life seemed to diminish in my mind. The call of my soul’s high longings became faint to my ears. A peculiar image came to me: I was composed of tiny particles which normally adhere together as a solid but were now being separated by some invisible dark force. And then,