The Vampire (THE VAMPIRE Book 1) (51 page)

He decided to spend some time at the Café Maspero, but the hour was still early and the place was not yet open. He could have slept in, he realized, but restlessness had not let him. His mind raced. He had been desperate to reach Genier just days ago; now he feared Genier’s call, especially since it would likely be in relation to having all of his belongings removed from the house in Boston. Jason still wanted to stall that move as long as possible. That remained his backup plan to try to speak to Augere, if—when—this venture failed. After that, his only recourse would be to write Augere a letter. Neither of those two options appealed to him as both held too much uncertainty.

He took up a position in the restaurant where he could see anyone who entered. He felt hopeful this morning, for no particular reason.

He really didn’t expect Augere to just stroll in. As his mind wandered, he began to recall the way Augere had moved so effortlessly. In one fluid motion. Jason deconstructed his own movements by way of contrast: first I would have the thought to stand; then slide to the edge of the bench, or place my hand on the table perhaps, to push myself up—he began to act out the sequence—then begin to stand up. It required several separate movements. Whereas with Augere—Jason began to picture it—it was as if thought and action were one.
He would already be at the exit while I was still processing, unconsciously, my next move. Fascinating
.

Jason became aware people were staring at him now and whispering. “It is probably not a good idea to act out my thoughts,” he mumbled to himself. When the restaurant staff had seated him upon entering and then had asked, as they observed him staring sporadically at the entrance, if he was expecting someone else, a hollow laugh escaped him. He wanted to explain he had met a vampire here once, and had hopes of doing so again. As long as it was the same vampire, of course. Instead of offering that explanation, he just shook his head, and continued to stare intently toward the door.

The restaurant staff were kind, and tolerant really, of him just sitting there with a soda he barely touched. He was hyper vigilant for any tall dark haired males, but he was trying not to call attention to himself. He began to draw up a grid on a piece of paper. He outlined streets from the map he carried. After studying the map, he didn’t know where else to look. Augere may be a creature of habit, as all humans were to some extent. Except, Jason reminded himself, Augere is not exactly human. The thought of that shocked him a little for a few moments. He was still getting used to things not being what they had seemed.

That thought took his mind off on a tangent. Just how different was he from the rest of us, Jason wondered. He knew the mythology of vampires; so far Augere didn’t fit that profile at all. Jason thought more about that. He had witnessed some strange things, to be sure, but not strange enough to label Augere vampire. Not the TV or movie versions. Augere rarely seemed to smile, much less laugh, but Jason was pretty sure he had not noticed any fangs. He was clear about that. But there was so much he did not know.
And now,
he thought sadly,
I may never know. I had this unique opportunity,
he sighed,
and I totally blew it
. He couldn’t let himself focus on that now; dwelling on that would be totally counter-productive. Okay. So Augere might be a creature of habit, still; he never saw Augere before 11 a.m., unless they were traveling.
So, I probably should stay up late, looking for him, then sleep in a little
. Then another disturbing thought: Augere was most likely out there looking for a new assistant, if one had not been found already.
I might look for him to be wearing a suit, like the one I saw him wear when he first approached me. And maybe I should also be on the lookout for Matthew or Sean Genier, especially at that hotel where I stayed
. It seemed the Geniers were used to conducting business there. Okay, good. Jason was pleased with what he had come up with so far. But it still wasn’t enough.

The waitress came to see, for the third time, if she could get him anything, and this time he ordered fries, which he had no intention of eating, and he asked her if she knew what places in New Orleans were associated with vampires.

The question did not seem to surprise her in the least. She wasn’t from here, she told him, having arrived here just within the past few years. But she volunteered, “I’ve heard of some weird stuff happening, at different places. Can’t say it has to do with vampires though.” She paused to reflect. “Except for the Ursulines, maybe.”

“The street?” he asked.

“The Convent,” she answered. “I don’t believe it myself. Just stuff I’ve heard about.”

He remembered, vaguely, a story about the place from the vampire tour he took. She went to put in his order. When she returned with the fries, he was ready with the next question.

“What kinds of things have you heard?”

She shrugged. “Just the stuff you hear on the vampire tours, is all.”

Okay. I need to do that tour again. Not that I actually expect real vampires, but it might give me some clues as to where I could look for the one real one
.

He left to get a quick bite of lunch, missing for the second time at the same location the irony of leaving a place where he could have gotten an excellent meal to go find something to eat. Then he found an internet café and did some research. What he found was interesting stuff, but nothing really useful in a practical sense. A lot of the info about the Ursulines seemed like urban myth; hyped up fantasy to feed into the vampire mythology for tourists. He made a list of more places to try: blues clubs; he remembered Augere had mentioned he favored those. absinthe bars; okay, there weren’t that many, but he would try them. There wasn’t much else to go on.

He decided he would take a walk to the Ursulines convent, to check it out more thoroughly. He remembered vague reference to some vampire related myth in connection to the Convent on the vampire tour taken on his previous visit but he hadn’t taken it seriously. But somehow he didn’t make it make it to the Ursulines, having been lured into a blues club along the way. He thought to rest himself there a while. This was one of the things he loved about New Orleans: here, on any weekday, at late afternoon, there always seemed to be great music to enjoy. He lingered there for a while, having a few drinks, while he scanned the darkened room for the one face he needed to see. He moved on to several more clubs over the course of the evening, and slowly became more drunk and melancholy. After tiring of the bars he wandered the dark streets. There were still a lot of people about, so it felt safe enough. He passed a liquor store, one just about to close, and he bought a large bottle of Southern Comfort to take back to his room.

He fell asleep that night, more the result of the shots of liquor than from exhaustion, with the feeling that once again he had accomplished nothing.

The next day was cold and rainy, not a day conducive to wandering the streets aimlessly. He had not thought New Orleans could get as chilly as this even in mid-December. He sat in the Maspero, with cup after cup of hot tea, the staff pleasantly indulging him as always.

At one point, he jumped up suddenly, startling a young couple with their infant in a highchair, causing the baby to cry, and spilling the drink of a woman at an adjacent table as he rushed past her. He had spotted, and then dashed after in the cold drizzle, a tall slender young looking man with longish dark hair, wearing a long black trench coat, the collar turned up obscuring his features, who walked briskly past the restaurant. He caught up with him nearly four blocks later, only to discover he was just a tall, slender young man with long dark hair wearing a long black trench coat. Jason was terribly disappointed and it took a while for the rush of adrenalin to subside. The rain was intermittent throughout the day, but the chill persisted. He was upset he could not wander around more. He made another attempt to get to the Ursulines, but once again he could not get there, due to the weather and other distractions of one sort or another. He didn’t know what he expected to find there anyway; surely not Augere.

He spent time in two different bars that served absinthe. He gave the bartenders Augere’s description at both locations; apparently, no one with that description was a regular.

Jason wandered into a club, enticed by the sounds of vintage soul and blues. A torch singer was doing a set; some old Brenda Lee and Peggy Lee, and Jason was surprised he recognized some of the songs. His mom had an extensive collection of torch singers music and he had grown up hearing some of this stuff. He sipped at a drink, as he slowly searched the darkened room. He focused on figures in the shadows: one of whom was a young male—his facial features obscured by the dark with just his youthful hands visible with his arms folded across his chest; he held momentary interest and Jason stared at the mostly hidden figure openly.

Why couldn’t that be him?
Jason asked himself, feeling weary and discouraged.
Why couldn’t I just run into him here and then I could casually approach him. I could talk to him and end all this
. He had been feeling melancholy to begin with, and now this music was making him maudlin.
Time to move on
.

He paused at a sandwich shop and got an order to go.

He wasn’t happy with any of his food choices lately; in fact he was barely eating anything at all, having no appetite to speak of. Even the beignets he loved barely appealed to him right now. What junk food he did buy, and ended up eating in his hotel room, was mainly just to have something in his stomach to offset all the liquor he was steadily consuming.

He bought more liquor— a larger bottle of Southern Comfort—and a small bottle of rum, and grabbed another six pack of Coke. He forced himself to walk around the dark, now nearly deserted streets, feeling cold and miserable, carrying both cash and the liquor, which even in his distracted state of mind he knew was not a wise thing to do.

After several blocks he became aware of footsteps walking behind him. His thoughts had been scattered and he had only noticed the footsteps when it seemed they were keeping up with him. When he paused, pretending to be looking in a store window, the other footsteps stopped also. This made him nervous, until the person passed by him. It would be a good idea to drop off the stuff he had bought back at the hotel. His intention was to go out again immediately, but he allowed himself to lie down for a short while upon reaching the safety of his room.

He must have slept briefly, because he awoke with the remnants of a dream still on his mind. The fragments he remembered: he was at a park with a lot of enclosed exotic animals, not unlike a place he had actually visited once. A large alligator sat quite close to public view. It rested so completely still it appeared to be dead; nothing about it suggested movement or any sign of life. Jason stayed quite close to it and he watched and studied it for a very long time, fascinated. A small fragile looking bird wandered near the still alligator, apparently as convinced of the absence of life as any other creature might be. And the alligator struck with such speed it had not seemed possible. Jason had been taking photos of the bird that very moment and still he had not been able to capture the movement. The bird was there one moment and gone without a trace the next.

The dream made him uneasy, even as it fascinated him. In reality he had actually once witnessed something quite similar. But why think of it again now? Suddenly, however, the images in the dream began to remind him of Augere. How still he could be. How well he might blend in with his surroundings. Your eyes could easily pass over him, and though he could be right there, you still might not see him. That subtlety, the same economy of movement, in all of his actions—he could easily pass unnoticed. Jason had no direct personal knowledge of it but now he had to consider Augere could be absolutely deadly. Wouldn’t that be his expected nature? This was a new fear he hadn’t even considered until now.
Just what am I doing?

Mainly because it made him think of Augere, he saw the dream as a sign, a message to be aware; to look very carefully, and deliberately.
I have to remember… he could be…right there, and I could still miss him. But it is clearly a warning too. What I’m doing could be very dangerous. He could be angry with me. He could think I’m trying to stalk him. He could strike so quickly, probably, I wouldn’t even see it coming
. He shuddered suddenly, as the new fear took hold of him.

You never have to see him again
.

That thought brought a wave of sorrow that washed over him and an anguished sound caught in his throat. Tears welled in his eyes. This completely and unexpectedly strong emotional reaction engulfed him and it was far stronger than his fear.
No! I have to do this! I will see him. I must
. Thoughts could manifest things. He had to stay positively focused. He had not been eating or sleeping well, and he’d been too upset and overly emotional lately. He just needed to stay rational and calm and focused.
And find him. Then just say what I need to say and be done with it; get on with my life
.

He went out again to wander the streets.

The city’s holiday decorations were showing up everywhere. It was a little more than a week into December, so it was unlikely they had just begun to appear. He was only just now noticing them. There was so much to delight the senses everywhere he looked, but all of it did little to cheer him. The thought of the upcoming holidays depressed him further.

I wish I could just indulge myself in my surroundings and let this go. Maybe I will get to come back here someday, and enjoy all of this then. Maybe I could bring Carrie. Or Zavi. Or both. I think they would like it here. It is a very romantic place
. Images of him and Zavi, romping on a big canopy bed in some historic hotel, having wild passionate sex, drinking champagne and laughing with delight began to occupy his thoughts briefly. A deep sigh escaped him.
I haven’t even talked to her since right before I left for Europe. Was it really only three weeks ago? She could have forgotten me and moved on with her life; she could be dating someone else by now. She could even be engaged for all I know
. He sighed again.
Now I’ve probably lost her too. How will I ever get to see her again? My life is never going to be the same
.