Futile Flame (15 page)

I felt the flames lick around my ankles first, and my instinct was to tear free and run away. The fire touched the rags that covered me and quickly took flight. The clothing burned from my body, and the flames caressed my skin. It was the worst agony I had ever experienced and I howled in pain.

‘Burn, demon!’ the crowd roared.

The fire felt like the heat of the sun had stretched across the world and was flaying the skin from my body. I screamed again. The crowd cheered louder. I glanced down through the flames and saw my skin blacken and burn. I felt the intense agony of the exposed veins and blood beneath sizzling and cracking as the fat caught fire. Then miraculously, as fast as I burned, my skin healed. I burned again, healed again. The pain was excruciating. But always when the blood flowed, my skin healed. It was then I knew. I couldn’t be burnt; I could never die. The flames were higher now, almost to my face. It burnt my breasts, my skin blackened and shrivelled as I screamed. I felt I was losing my mind from the intense and constant pain. Then my body would rebuild once more only to burn again.

It had to stop. The flame was futile. It would never destroy me. I shifted my body through the spectrum so that it became one with the fire. At the same time, a coldness seeped into my skin which stopped all aspects of the fire from eating my flesh further. To the crowd it must have looked as though the fire had consumed me. I screamed louder for effect. But it no longer hurt at all. I slipped out of the charred ropes and walked down through the centre of the fire, naked, burnt and invisible. As I left the pyre my body shifted again and I became one with the dark night.

I heard the pounding of horses’ hooves riding full pelt towards the pyre. I stopped and watched as a group of riders entered the square. The leader dismounted and tore off the scarf which had protected his face during the ride. It was Caesare! He stared with horror at the furiously burning fire. Already the wood was little more than glowing embers. He fell to his knees, his hands knuckled against his temples and his body shaking. I watched as he sobbed and cried at my apparent demise. Obviously he had heard the stories and realised that I must have been the cause, coming as soon as he could to try and rescue his beloved. His tears went unnoticed by the priest and the villagers as they loudly began to sing psalms as though exorcising the devil from the very air. Their zealous religion, so pathetic now to my immortal gaze, seemed like some bizarre and foreign cult. It was a fitting end to my official life.

Still cloaked in darkness I turned my back on Caesare and began to limp calmly from the village. My legs were badly burnt but each step saw them heal further and soon I was able to run. As I reached the outskirts of the town I hurried silently into the surrounding forest and away from the scene of my crime, leaving behind the ashes that would make my brother believe I was dead and would ensure my freedom away from him. As I entered the woods I glanced down at my hands and watched with fascination as the final burns healed. Joanna’s sweet blood had given me more power, I was sure. It had granted me this amazing healing ability. What would my next victim do for me?

Chapter 23 – Lucrezia’s Story

Rome greeted me silently as I instinctively lurked in shadows for fear of being recognised, despite the fact that no one could see me. The city felt alien. Even as I stepped over the threshold of the sentry point I knew I needed to leave Italy as soon as possible if I was to be certain that Caesare wouldn’t hear of me again. I was afraid to be recognised for then he would learn I had survived the fire. My first thought was of finding transport quickly and then I realised I had no money to pay for passage.

Still naked, I walked along the harbour at Fumicino unseen. Invisibility had its advantages in all ways, but I was beginning to feel weaker from using it too much. I knew I would have to feed again soon. But for now I enjoyed the buzz of walking among the unique assemblage of characters that inhabited the docks. I was in the company of sailors, merchants and whores for the first time in my life. There was a strange excitement in my heart as I realised I was seeing a world previously denied me. It was the thrill of the voyeur.

I breathed in the smell of the dock. It was intoxicating. Some would say it stank. Along the pier the smell of cooked and burnt food mingled with the strong odour of rotting fish guts, which wafted from the moored fishing boats. A sailor brushed by me; his aura tasted of stale sweat and urine. I almost gagged on the stench of the place. My sense of smell was as heightened as my other senses and I had to place my hand over my mouth and nose in order to block some of the overpowering reek. Then I focused my mind to ignore it and to my pleasure the odour receded. My abilities were growing day by day.

I stood on the dock and looked around. My attention was caught by a bearded merchant in flamboyant, expensive clothing shouting instructions to a small group of young boys.

‘Quicker, or I’ll take the time you waste from your pay, you lazy young scoundrels,’ he yelled.

The boys glanced at him. I recognised hunger in their gaunt and pale faces as they looked up at him. He’d hired them to move his wares to a cart; the boxes were heavy and they struggled to move them in their malnourished, weakened state. The merchant was a particularly deserving donor as my deft fingers relieved him of his substantial purse. I didn’t wait to see the boys’ anger when they realised he couldn’t pay them, but I walked away smiling at the thought, after carefully slipping some coins into the pockets of each boy. They shivered as my fingers brushed their worn clothing but my coldness was little worse than the day offered them anyway.

Stealing was easy. Too easy. So I took more purses as I moved unseen through the harbour. Then I began to feel tired and drained. I had to find clothing. With money that should be easy. But you had to be dressed in order to enter a store to obtain clothing. The solution eluded me for a while.

I left the docks and watched numbly as carriages and horses passed by on the road that lead into the town and farther into Rome itself. I felt like a ghost looking into the world of the living but never able to enter it. It was easy to believe I didn’t exist whilst invisible. As I watched the wealthy take their constitutional drives through the streets of Rome, I believed that this world was forever closed to me.

And then I saw my childhood friend Alcia. She looked much older than the last time I’d seen her, maybe five years before, and a little plumper. I followed her carriage on foot for a mile until we reached her house. Alcia had married well. But for once I did not indulge my natural curiosity. I was too afraid of being seen, or worse, succumbing to feeding from a former friend. The thought made my stomach churn. I slipped into her house unseen and in her closets and drawers found a suitable outdoor outfit that was respectable but not ostentatious. I slipped the clothing on with some relief.

Now I could visit any tailor in the city and order clothing to furnish me with the right image I’d need for a lady travelling aboard a ship alone. I could only do that if I had money and status. A woman alone would be suspicious and so I would also need an entourage of employees. It was all so incredibly complicated and, as I dressed, my mind tumbled over all of the many factors that could go wrong.

Walking through the streets again, clothed and visible, I started to feel part of the world again. I wondered what would be my next move. Firstly I needed to feed my blood craving again. It was growing steadily worse with each passing day, and every time I used my invisibility I became hungrier. It affected my ability to remain rational and I began to focus on the pulsing beat at the throat of everyone I passed. It was a dangerous time. I feared losing control and turning into an insane animal. This made the need to feed far more urgent. Therefore the docks appeared to be the likely place to find what I needed. I reasoned that it was probably best to eat more regularly in order to avoid a lack of self control. So I returned to the docks and hired a whore.

‘I suspect this is a first for you,’ I said as we went up three flights of stairs to her small and dusty room.

‘A fine lady alone... yes. But I done women plenty of times. Men like to see me with their wives and mistresses.’

‘I see.’ I smiled as she closed the door, and I began to peel off my black gloves. ‘Take your clothes off and lie down.’

‘You don’t waste time,’ she laughed. ‘O’course stripping completely will cost you more.’

‘Fine.’

The whore was younger than she looked. Her body was firm and unscarred by childbirth. I was surprised to see this, as I assumed that she would have been pregnant at least once by now. I’d picked her for her flowing black locks and laughing brown eyes. She was sweet natured, though I was certain she was experienced. I’d thought her pretty, but there was a hardness around her eyes that made her seem harsh in certain light.

She stripped and lay on the bed as I watched and her nakedness excited me. But now I recognised why; the sensation was less about her body, and more about the fine blue veins that threaded her olive skin, just under the surface. Her stomach muscles were taut and firm, her breasts pert. I watched the blood pump under her fine skin, followed its pathway all the way to her heart. My stomach growled.

I walked towards her with the gait of a predator.

‘What’s your name?’ I asked seconds before my fangs extended from my gums and into her neck.

I fed on her blood until her eyes dulled and she sank into death with ecstatic orgasmic cries strangling her last breath. Unsatisfied, I wanted more. My nails were like talons and I ripped open her chest at the last moment. She didn’t feel it; she was already comatose. But I wanted to suck the last beat from her heart, and I snapped the arteries as I pulled it free.

I pressed my greedy mouth against the still spasming muscle and swallowed her last drops. I licked my fingers clean of her blood. Then I lay back on her bed like a decadent whore myself, my body jerking and rolling with the ecstasy of her vital blood rushing through me, its vibrancy shivered through every nerve ending until late into the night.

Chapter 24 – Lucrezia’s Story

I was determined to enjoy Rome’s underbelly, though I instinctively lurked in the shadows. The lowlife, the evil, rank world of the poor, held a bizarre fascination for me. If you visited
the dock alone as a woman, you were liable to be raped. If you hired a whore, she may rob you of your purse as you slept. If you drank in the taverns then sailors would offer you money for a good time. This was the world of the dock. Its rules were uncomplicated and the simple honesty of the lowest dregs of humanity was refreshing.

The world of wealth, the world I’d known as the daughter of a Pope, had been full of sin, evil and debauchery. It was false. No one was really your friend; declarations of love would be denied days later once lovers had satisfied their lust. No one could be trusted. A pregnancy would be hushed up and the girl sent away to be married off as a virgin at the first opportunity. This had been my life. This was why I took over the life of the whore on the docks, why I disposed of her body and began to wear her clothes and live in her room. This is how I became known as ‘Juliet the whore’, who gave her customers the best time and never stole from them. Of course I did steal something from them, although their memory of it was always very vague. They remembered the ecstasy of my touch and I soon learnt I didn’t have to kill if I took only a little blood each night. It was far less conspicuous than murder, even in this lawless society.

The sailors always wanted more of a good thing, and they came back for it. I built up a regular clientele and actually began to enjoy the seedy and violent life of the underworld I had once been afraid of. Even the strange requests and sexual perversities of my clients interested me. I took part in them as though they were some form of experiment.

The most surprising thing was how the docklands accepted me wholeheartedly: men more readily than the other whores at first.

‘You’re new around here, and there are rules you have to play by,’ a sassy whore of about forty told me.

‘Rules?’

‘Yeah. And this here is my patch.’

‘I see.’

It was a quiet night. There hadn’t been a new ship for several days, which meant trade was slow. The whores were squabbling over every potential customer. It had been noted that I had more than average success, even though the younger girls were usually the busiest.

‘So what’s your name then?’ asked the whore, her hand on her hip. I noticed the other whores carefully watching our exchange.

‘I’m Juliet,’ I answered automatically. ‘Who are you?’

‘I’m Margo. And I run this area. Like I said, there’s a way things are done around here.’

I looked around at the others. I read curiosity, but not fear, from their thoughts. Margo was respected. The code among the whores was that they looked after each other.

‘Well, Margo. I’m new in town and I could do with some good advice,’ I said. ‘It’s a slow night, so why don’t we go get some drinks in the tavern. I’m paying if you’ve a mind for the company and are willing to explain things to me.’

Margo’s arm dropped from her hip and her stance became benign. In the end friendship and generosity were all that anyone needed. I became accepted as one of them and I was always ready to pay for cheap wine for my new friends. Because whores disappeared daily, the old Juliet was soon forgotten and no one, not even the landlord, asked where she was.