Blood Memories

"He's a bastard. I saw your shoulder once. Those burns. You panicked a few nights after being turned. I tried to hold you down and your shirt ripped. Angelo thinks you're such a mystery, but I told him to use his mind. You don't remember anything because it's too black."

"Do you think I care? None of that matters. Let us hunt now. We have forever to talk."

"Can you feel anything? Anything at all?"

The din around them grew louder. Philip leaned forward. "I feel like hunting."

A bit of light left John's eyes. He nodded with a sad smile. "Of course. Who have you picked out this time?"

"Those two whores by the bar. See them? I want the one in the green dress. She's been staring at me."

"How strange," John whispered in a cynical tone, "that she should be staring at you. I've often wondered how someone with your face can think only of blood."

"What would you do if you had my face?"

"Do you really want to know?"

"Yes."

"Well, for one, I wouldn't have joined with Angelo. I'd have lived on as a mortal searching the world for that one perfect love, who adored me for myself, yet thought herself lucky that my soul and mind were housed in such a form."

"Sickening. You would not."

"Oh, yes, I would."

"I'm sorry I asked you."

Philip used his beauty at every opportunity, and then despised those who succumbed to it. Fools. If women were taken in by long, red-brown hair, a tall form, and ivory skin, that was their weakness-part of the game.

"Here they come," he said.

The woman in green looked about twenty-four, with dull brown hair and too much rouge. Her companion was a dark blonde in cheap blue velvet. Philip knew a lot about prostitutes. Many of them were alcoholics. Most of them had several children they couldn't afford to feed, and nearly all of them hated men no matter how much they smiled. He liked them because they were easy to draw off alone.

"Buy us a drink?" the blonde asked.

"Depends," John answered. "How much will it cost me?"

"No need to worry about that yet." She flashed him an almost genuine smile and sat down. John wasn't handsome, but Philip always marveled at the number of women who fell into comfortable conversation with the oversized Scotsman. This was John's gift. In his presence, all worries faded and vanished. He put everyone's mind at ease.

Philip, on the other hand, was no master with words, and used his foot to push a chair out for the woman in green.

"You asking me to sit down?" she said.

"If you like."

She had eyes like glass and a false laugh, but not many wrinkles from wear and no visible scars. "What's a fine gentleman like you doing here?"

"Getting out of the cold. Our horses were tired, so we decided to stop."

"Travelers?"

"Yes, on our way to Nantes."

"Staying the night?"

"Looks like we'll have to."

This was an old game, one she'd played a thousand times. "I have a warm place where you can sleep. Won't cost you much."

"Will you wait outside for a moment?" He pushed a small pouch into her hand. "I need to speak with my friend."

Surprised at her own good fortune, landing a generous young man so easily, she nodded and stepped out the door. Philip waited a bit, then went out after her. Being seen leaving with her might cause him problems later. Her companion wasn't a concern since she'd be dead within the hour as well. He had been ordered to play by Angelo's rules when it came to hunting.

"My name is Camille," the woman said when he came out.

"Where do you live?"

She led him down ice-covered streets, past dingy buildings to the oldest part of Harfleur. "I have only one room," she said. "But there's a stove and coal."

Her home was small, on the ground floor, but Philip cared nothing for aesthetics. She lit a candle and the dark room came alive with flickering shadows across dirty walls. "Do you want a drink, sir?"

"No."

"What's in Nantes?"

"Business."

He didn't want to talk. Words were pointless. She took off her cloak and dropped it on a chair. Walking past the candle, he grasped her neck with one hand and jerked open the front of her dress with the other.

"Careful," she whispered, not startled by his actions. "Don't rip it."

Her mouth moved up to his, and he kissed her. Although never admitting the fact to John or Julian, he liked affection from some of his victims. It felt good to put his lips against warm flesh and let the hunger build, feel the blood with his tongue just below their skin's surface, knowing he had only to take it.

Her hands pulled off his cloak and tugged at his clothes, while she made small, gasping sounds. Candlelight danced across his cheek. He stopped long enough to take his shirt off and pin her down onto the bed, pushing the dress below her shoulders to expose large, white breasts that tasted good in his mouth.

Sometimes he took them quickly, killing swiftly before they even knew death had arrived. Sometimes he took longer, letting them flail and beg in a useless attempt to invoke his pity. How they died changed the pictures that flowed into him along with their blood. It all depended on his mood.