Blood Sisters_ Vampire Stories by Women - Paula Guran Page 0,62

out of whole cloth.” He rubbed his hands together, his nervousness returning.

“And what did you discover?” Saint-Germain’s inquiry was polite, almost disinterested, but there was something in his dark eyes that held James’ attention as he answered.

“Well, there was a Madelaine de Montalia born here in the eighteenth century. That was true. And she did … die in Paris in 1744. She was only twenty, and I read that she was considered pretty.” He paused. “The way Madelaine is pretty, in fact.”

“Does that surprise you?” Saint-Germain asked.

“Well, the same family …” James began weakly, then broke off. “The portrait looked just like her, and she kept saying it was her.” These words were spoken quickly and in an undervoice, as if James feared to let them have too much importance.

“But you did not believe her,” Saint-Germain prompted him when he could not go on. “Why was that?”

“Well, you should have heard what she said!” James burst out, rising from the chair and starting to pace in front of the fireplace. “She told me … Look, I know that you were her lover once. She didn’t kid me about that. And you might not know the kinds of things she said about herself …” He stopped and stared down at the fire, thinking that he was becoming more famished by the minute. If he could eat, then he would not have to speak. Unbidden, the memories of the long evenings with Madelaine returned with full force to his thoughts. He pictured her dining room with its tall, bright windows, Madelaine sitting across from him, or at the corner, watching him with delighted eyes as he ate. She never took a meal with him, and he had not been able to accept her explanation for this. As he tried to recall the taste of the sauce Claude had served with the fish, he nearly gagged.

“I know what she told you,” Saint-Germain said calmly, as if from a distance. “She told you almost twenty years ago that she is a vampire. You did not accept this, although you continued to love her. She warned you what would happen when you died, and you did not choose to believe her. Yet she told you the truth, Mister Tree.”

James turned around so abruptly that for a moment he swayed on his feet. “Oh, sure! Fangs and capes and graveyards and all the rest of it. Madelaine isn’t any of those things.”

“Of course not.”

“And,” James continued rather breathlessly now that he was started, “she said that you were … and that you were the one who changed her!” He had expected some reaction to this announcement, but had not anticipated that it would be a nod and a stern smile. “She said …” he began again, as if to explain more to Saint-Germain.

“I’m aware of that. She had my permission, but that was merely a formality.” He sat a bit straighter in his chair as the significance of his words began to penetrate James’ indignation. “She and I are alike in that way, now. It is correct: I did bring about her change, as she brought about yours.” His steady dark eyes were unfaltering as they held James’.

“Come on,” James persisted, his voice growing higher with tension. “You can’t want her to say that about you. You can’t.”

“Well, in a general way I prefer to keep that aspect of myself private, yes,” Saint-Germain agreed urbanely, “but it is the truth, nonetheless.”

James wanted to yell so that he would not have to listen to those sensible words, so that he could shut out the quiet, contained man who spoke so reasonably about such completely irrational things. “Don’t joke,” he growled, his jaw tightening.

“Mister Tree,” Saint-Germain said, and something in the tone of his voice insisted that James hear him out: the American journalist reluctantly fell silent. “Mister Tree, self-deception is not a luxury that we can afford. I realize that you have been ill prepared for … recent events, and so I have restrained my sense of urgency in the hope that you would ask the questions for yourself. But you have not, and it isn’t wise or desirable for you to continue in this way. No,” he went on, not permitting James to interrupt, “you must listen to me for the time being. When I have done, I will answer any questions you have, as forth-rightly as possible; until then, be good enough to remain attentive and resist your understandable inclination to argue.”

James was oddly daunted