BACK TO FRASER'S FRACTURED FICTION

Adventures in Decorating, part 2

by A. Fraser and J. Hontz

Part 2

© Copyright 2005 A. Fraser and J. Hontz. All rights reserved.

When Gideon and Josh returned from seeing to their clothing (it had already
been hung in the closets) and their toiletries (carefully and skilfully
arranged in the bathroom) and etc. (whatever it is that people in love do
when they have five minutes to themselves) all parties reassembled in the
sitting room.

Spencer Smythe had his nose buried in a ledger.  Adele had turned her
attention from him and was eyeing Mitch speculatively.  Her tongue came out
and moistened her lips.

Julian, who'd been in conversation with Spencer, looked up.  

To the relief of everyone in the room, Mrs Barnard had, for the moment at
least, disappeared.

"Giddy-widdy-widdoms, can I pretty pretty please steal Mitch away and take
him off to my lair - er I mean show him some of the nightlife?" Adele said,
batting her eyelashes at Gideon as she draped herself artistically over his
broad solid shoulders.  "I think some of the clubs I have in mind to show
him  might be a bit, er, boring for you.  Young people, loud music, and all
that."  She looked from Josh to Gideon and back again. Julian was,
apparently, not to be consulted on the wisdom of this division of forces.

Julian did, however, shrug.  "She does know Paris," he commented. 
"Better, Iexpect, than I do these days," he added thoughtfully.

Josh dared to risk a glance at his husband.  Gideon seemed to be mouthing
"Giddy-widdy-widdoms" to himself.

"Boss?" Mitch asked with some trepidation.

Gideon waved a hand, almost negligently.  "Go," he said. "But if anything
happens to my young assistant," he looked at Adele, "I will want a full
accounting.  Adella-bella-ella."

She laughed and, before Gideon could move away, kissed the Baron on the
cheek again.  Then she grabbed Mitch by the hand and said, "Come with me."  
They ran down the steps before anyone could call them back or change their minds.

"Can I call you Giddy..." Josh began.

"Not if you want to live," Gideon said, firmly.


Adele was still laughing as she and Mitch reached the main floor of the
hotel.  She tugged Mitch along with her, but truthfully, the young slightly
hairy fellow needed little urging from Adele.  He wasn't quite sure how he'd
managed to get asked out by her, but hey, he wasn't going to waste time
worrying about that right now.

The two of them were still nearly running as they exited the rather
impressive front doors of the hotel, leaving startled bellhops and guests in
their wake.  Well, at least none of them had been knocked over in their rush
to escape the watchful eyes of their respective employers/guardians.

The evening was soft and full of sound and motion and lights and Paris was
dressed up to her best effect.  The two miscreants had come to a stop a few
doors up from the hotel.  Adele was leaning back against a wall, catching
her breath.  Which made Mitch pay strict attention since Adele was quite
nicely endowed and the movement of breasts under thin material was currently
on display in a very nice way.

"So, Monsieur Mitch, where to?  Dancing?  Drinking?  Illicit entirely
inappropriate parties?  Or a private table for two somewhere?"  Adele asked
with a twinkle in her bright blue eye.

Mitch grinned at her.  Was there just the faintest, teeniest hint of a feral
yellow glow behind his blue eyes? Were his canines perhaps slightly, ever so
slightly, sharper than a human's should be?

"Let's go dancing and drinking first," he suggested.  Perhaps there was the
soupcon of a growl in it.  "I don't want to waste this chance to get
plastered in Paris."

"Hmmmm,"  Adele commented with an appreciative stare into those feral eyes.
Adele had no objections to partially uncivilized men.  Otherwise she'd
hardly have found Francis attractive.

"I know just the place."

"Oh?"

She laughed and pulled him along into a rather dark and narrow alley.  "Oh
yes."

Mitch, having a lot of confidence in himself, hardly gave the security
considerations of that dark alleyway a thought.  Well, okay, he was more
concerned with giving Adele's perky behind a thought, still... He was, after
all, hardly helpless.  He wasn't exactly sure what Adele had going for her
but she didn't scan quite normal or helpless either.  Although, granted, to
his knowledge Adele had never shown a hint of special powers or even much in
the way of magic, Mitch was well aware that Evan had spent some time trying
to figure out just what she was (Evan, security obsessed, generally spent
far too much time brooding over what exactly other people were.  Since he
was an Other People himself, well, there you have it).  So he wasn't
particularly worried for her safety either.

"Hmmm?"  Adele asked, as she heard the snort Mitch hadn't managed to
entirely suppress at those thoughts.

"Is there..."  He began to say.

It was then the men were on them.  Three of them, rather dully dressed in
black.  Perhaps they were Goth wannabes.

As there were three of them, they did manage to separate Adele and Mitch.

Mitch, busy with his own two attackers, could barely spare a glance toward
Adele.

Adele, likewise a bit busy, let Mitch worry about himself.

She, dressed in skin-tight pants and two inch heels, was a bit at a
disadvantage.  She posed a moment, bent forward at the waist, giving the
fellow a nice view of shapely breasts peeking out of a mostly unbuttoned
shirt, and used his inevitable distraction to examine the fellow who was
advancing upon her in a similar if not quite so revealing crouch.

The man, along with his colleagues, was certainly no typical French
pickpocket. Nor was he a typical thug.  He hadn't bothered to wear a mask,
but he did have a rather odd sign painted on his forehead.  In black of
course.  His hair was black, his eyes were black, his skin was a paler shade
of black.  He was, Adele concluded sadly, rather good looking in a monkish
sort of way.  Too bad.  That was when her left leg shot out unerringly
aiming that stiletto heel at his nearest knee.

The thug, expecting the kick to be aimed at a far more tender and vulnerable
portion of his anatomy, twisted with quickness and grace, but kept his feet
planted and was thus unable to entirely avoid the blow.  The stiletto heel
instead impacted on the unprotected bone in the man's right lower leg.  The
power of the kick dropped him to his knees as his leg gave way.  His breath
whooshed out of him as she followed that up with a blow across the man's now
exposed neck.  He dropped like a rock, unconscious, to the dirty alleyway
cobbles.

Mitch, on the other hand, found one black-clad thug grabbing him and holding
him while the other one who wasn't attacking Adele attempted that old fight
standby known in Mitch's native England as "putting the boot in" and in his
adopted America as "a kick in the balls". But it was only attempted, because
the fellow holding Mitch didn't realize that he was not restraining an
ordinary young man.  He didn't have a tiger by the tail, but he did have a
werewolf by the waist.

With a growl that raised hair on necks six blocks away, Mitch broke free of
the grasp, grabbed the leg that was still being raised in the direction of
his genitals, and pulled.  The kicker went flat on his back with a sound
like "Whooo... thud, crack!"  Moving like a wolf, Mitch turned to the man
behind him and leapt on him, bearing him to the ground as well.

He fought not only against his opponent, but against the beast within.  The
wolf wanted out; but if he let it out, there would be total carnage in this
alley.  Total.  Carnage.  So he contented himself with knocking the fellow's
head against the pavement a few times.

The other one he'd knocked down had only been winded; and got up and tried
to pry the werewolf off his buddy.  Without even glancing at him, Mitch shot
out an arm and caught the second man with a powerhouse punch any boxing
aficionado would've wept to see.  The recipient fell like a sack.

Once all three attackers were laid out at their feet, Adele, hands on hips,
and Mitch, still breathing heavily - oh, not from the exertion but more
because of the arousal caused by the way Adele was aglow after enjoyable
physical exercise - looked down at the three.  They might have been triplets
for all the differences among them.

"Our night is ruined," Adele whined.  "I suppose we ought to tote at least
one back to the hotel for Julian or Gideon to question.  I just don't see
these boys as wanting to ravage little old me, or even you darling Mitch."

_____________

The old fogeys, on the other hand, were enjoying a tame, uneventful, boring,
safe, sedate, pedestrian, mundane, average (yes, we SEE you have that
thesaurus, scribe, we aren't impressed) drive around the sights and sites of
Paris.

Although the trip through the  Bois-de-Boulogne was a bit of an eye opener.
Particularly for Gideon.  One of the ladies of the night (no, the other
kind) had leant into the limo on his side and planted yet another kiss on
our fair hero's cheek.  Well, okay the kiss landed on the glass between his
cheek and her lips but it was sufficiently amusing to have Josh snickering.

Julian, on the other hand, seemed a bit distracted.

"What is it?" Josh asked.

"I believe there's been a minor contretemps and we are needed at the hotel.
I'm afraid we'd best return there forthwith."

"Is everyone all right?" Josh asked.

"Well, not everyone.  But everyone I care about is well, so that's what
matters."

Then he added, "Gabrielle, back to the hotel if you please."

That was when the black Audi shot out of one of the darker, narrower
pathways in the Bois.  It came at the far less nimble limo at top speed.
Gabrielle did what she could. But the Audi seemed intent on ramming them.

Just before impact, Julian was heard to mutter, "Oh, bother."  Then, in an
instant the four of them were not in a soon-to-be-crashed limo, but instead
were standing in the hallway outside Gideon and Josh's room at the hotel.

"Everyone all right?" Julian asked brightly.

Gabrielle seemed too stunned to find words.  Julian muttered crossly, "I
suppose we'll have to do one of those endless and boring accident reports,
in triplicate. You simply must agree to drive for me    Gabrielle.  Then we
wouldn't have to bother with that sort of nonsense."

______

There are castles in the Loire Valley; large chateaus built by rich wine
merchants, disenfranchised princes, barons of industry, and the like.  They
dot the French countryside like overpriced mushrooms. It is almost
inevitable that at least one of them should house a vampire.

But it's a rather pretty little chateau. It has the requisite towers, of
course; but it also has a charming garden (although with a few headstones at
the bottom of it, making a private little graveyard) and stained glass
windows. It does not look like the home of one of the undead.  There are no
bats, no cobwebs, no sweeping gothic arches, no thousands of rats.  There is
a small black and white cat, brushing up against the hemline of her
mistress' skirt as said mistress walks the halls of her abode.

All is not well in the Chateau de Monet.

"The lock has been broken," said Genevieve de Monet, frowning at one of the
outside doors.  "And the alarms have been bypassed."  One would have thought
she was speaking to herself, if not for the fact that she was holding a
small and very modern cell phone.

"Damn," said the voice on the other end of the ... you can't say line
anymore, can you? ... said the voice on the other phone.  "I can't possibly
get away.  Get Jean to come and stay with you.  Or better yet, get out of
the house."

Genevieve frowned again.  "I will not simply desert the chateau, Evan," she
said.  "And Jean has obligations in Paris."

She heard something, something that did not belong in the house.  A
footfall.  An indrawn breath.  Sounds made by living people.  "Whoever it is
is still in the house," she said into the phone. "I will call you back."

"Genevieve, don't hang..." click.

The lady of the house glanced down at her cat.  Aurore (this was
approximately Aurore number 12 or so, Genevieve had a habit of acquiring
black and white cats and naming them for the dawn she never saw) had her
ears laid back and her tail was erect and bushy.

Moving more silently than even the cat could, Genevieve walked towards the
source of the foreign sounds.  Someone had a heartbeat.  For now.

They were in her bedroom!  Although it wasn't a new experience for there to
be other people in her bedroom, Genevieve had usually invited them first.
Her eyes glowed red.  To invade a vampire's inner sanctum was to invite
death.

She flung open the door and stared at the two men. One was rooting through
her jewellery box, the other was holding something she couldn't quite see.
But they didn't look like thieves, somehow.  She didn't stop to take in the
details of their appearance, but flung herself at the one going through her
jewels.

There was something sharp at her back, suddenly.

"Madame de Monet," said a rather pleasant voice in her ear, "you will
release my companion.  What I am holding is a silver knife, blessed with
holy water, and I am quite confident that it will kill you, or at least
inconvenience you severely."

She let the thief go.  He rubbed at his throat. Then she looked at them.
They were dressed in black, which was not a large surprise, but it wasn't
the sort of black a thief wears. They wore no masks or hats or camouflage
paint; although they did have peculiar signs painted on their foreheads. In
black.  There was something about them that made Genevieve think of monks,
although they weren't tonsured and wore no crosses openly.

"Why not just stake me, then?" she asked.

"I will if you make it necessary," replied the man behind her.  "But we are
not vampire hunters."

"Or ordinary thieves," said the other man, once more going through the pile
of jewellery.  This would appear to have been true, for he was ignoring
Cartier, Tiffany and other designers.  Just one piece would have made these
men their fortunes, but he seemed uninterested.

"What do you want?" she demanded.

"Your husband's ring," said the man with the knife.

"Gaspard's ring is buried with him," Genevieve replied.  "His is the middle
grave in the garden, but I would prefer not to have him disinterred.  And I
must warn you, he died of plague."

"Do not toy with us, madam.  We may not be vampire hunters, but we have no
objection to slaying vampires, especially those that get in our way.  I do
not mean Gaspard, whoever he was.  I mean Claude de Monet."

Genevieve went very still, and steeled herself not to touch the gold chain
around her neck, from which hung a golden ring.  A man's ring, worn thin
with age.  "Claude's body was never recovered," she said.  It was the truth.

"But you have his ring, madame.  The ring of a master vampire, prince of
France."

"What would you want with such a thing?"

"The artefacts of powerful occult beings have a power of their own, madame.
We wish that power."

"Then you are very stupid."

She felt the knife withdraw from behind her.

"You know nothing..." began the man, but he'd given her a precious few
seconds.

Never give a vampire a few seconds.

Both men were dead within a few seconds more.  Genevieve didn't waste any
time toying with them, torturing them for information, or drinking their
blood.  Or in cleaning up her bedroom.  She quickly changed clothes, threw
some more into a bag, snatched up her protesting cat, and vacated the
chateau.

As she was driving (yes, like a bat out of hell) to Paris, to the relative
safety of her lover Jean's house, she used the tiny cell phone to place a
call to Maine.

"They were after Claude's ring," she told Evan when he answered the phone at
Oakwoods. "No, I do not know why, other than that they require powerful
occult objects.  I'm going to Paris.  Gideon and Joshua are with Julian; I
will talk to them as well as to Jean.  No, stay in Maine, you are needed
there."

The lights of Paris appeared on the horizon.

It was going to be an interesting first meeting with Julian, that was for
certain.

| GO TO TOP OF PAGE | ON TO PART THREE |