The Vampire (THE VAMPIRE Book 1) (52 page)

He was startled out of self-pity by the sight of a pale young man walking toward him from a distance. Some of the same features—but clearly not Augere.

But what if it had been? What would he have said to him just now? He suddenly felt fearful again… of an actual surprise meeting now. Or of the fact he had no clear idea of how he should express what he wanted and needed to say. As fearful of finding him as of not finding him perhaps? There were too many unknowns; he hadn’t thought this through. Accepting the reality of Augere as vampire was hard enough; how was he going to handle actually seeing him again?

Again he pondered how to reconcile his images of Augere with ideas of mythological beings. Exactly what did it mean for him to be vampire?
Did he control me? Was he able to manipulate me? Able to read my mind?
It did not appear this was truly the case, but how did he know for sure? Had he stayed working for Augere, what would his life have been like? Would he have lost his sense of self? His mind, his freedom, even his sanity? Eventually, even his life? Exactly what did Augere and the Geniers have in mind for him?
Just what I am chasing after here? I don’t know their motives and really, at this point, how well do I really know my own?

He thought he knew, thought he understood his present motives: his belief that he had caused Augere emotional pain, which he had not meant to do. He felt a strong need to correct a wrong; a misconception he believed he had created. But that answer seemed too facile just now. Was there more? Did he still have a craving just to be in his presence? And where had that come from? This had been something he had been struggling with from the beginning. He had often longed to see Augere, and then felt uneasy with that longing.
Whatever compels me toward him, I know it is stronger than I am
. Was this all part of that existence as vampire—evidence of Augere’s power over him? Or was it just a compelling charisma he had, vampire or not? It was hard to say; difficult to understand. Not that it might matter anymore.

I am free right now. I can feel it: free of him
. A different sense than he had had in a while. He should just go. He could walk away from this and never look back. And it was his understanding, though he could still be wrong, that as long as he never said anything about Augere to anyone, he would have nothing to fear. He could believe that now; He was not able to believe it just days ago. The sudden realization of this freedom was both liberating and frightening. Did his spirit feel so light right now—because he was truly free and unburdened? Released from the auspices of him? Or did he feel so light and weightless and insignificant because he was so dead and empty inside, having lost that connection with Augere forever? Jason was not able to tell which of these it was.

He suddenly felt as if he needed to sit and think. Perhaps to rest and clear his mind of all thought for a while. He was in a state of weary confusion.

Absinthe.
That is what I need
. Clear lucid thought.

One of the absinthe bars he had been looking for was actually just a few blocks from the Ursulines convent. Of course the convent would be closed now, but he could still walk by there. But first, it would not hurt to have a taste of absinthe.

He found the place easily enough. It was situated on a corner, in an area filled with small friendly neighborhood bars and touristy shops. Jason looked in the window first. There were a few patrons. A young couple sat at one of the tables, while a few others Jason would call gothy types, two men and a woman, sat at the bar. He decided to go in. He could do with some goth friendly company, or almost any friendly company right now for that matter.

The female bartender, possibly in her early thirties, was wearing a purposefully tattered grey T-shirt dress over a black fishnet lace top, black tights and black Doc Martens. She had a small eyebrow piercing and a small fleur de lis tattoo on her wrist. She greeted Jason with a warm smile and a friendly hello. He liked the look of her, felt an instant warmth and rapport. He liked her tousled shaggy reddish brown haircut.

This might be his fifth or sixth experience with absinthe now, he couldn’t quite recall, but he asked her to recommend one for him. He watched as she prepared his drink and after a few sips he asked a question. “I’m looking for an acquaintance who comes to New Orleans often; in fact he is in town now. I’m not sure where he is staying but I think he might be kind of a regular here.”

“What does he look like? I know most of the regulars.”

“Tall, slender. Very pale. Neatly groomed long dark, nearly black, hair; dresses well, but usually casual. Almost a gothy, punk look sometimes, but not extreme. Might even wear an expensive suit sometimes. Rather unusual eyes. Very soft spoken, with just a trace of a hard to define accent. Young and rather good looking…did I mention—quite pale?”

She nodded knowingly. “Vampire, huh?”

Jason was startled. His focus on her intensified.

She rolled her eyes playfully. “Gee, we hardly ever see anyone that fits that description around here.”

He exhaled. He realized how the description must have sounded, considering the locale.

She frowned and then began to nod slowly. “There is a guy…sort of fits that description though. He looks a little too young to drink actually, and he gives us a hard time when we try to card him. So I do it just to piss him off sometimes.”

Jason’s heart skipped a beat. “Yes. Looks too young. Wears several gothic type bracelets, both wrists.”

She nodded, reflecting, as she looked off in the distance. “And lots of ear piercings.”

Jason’s hopes fell. He had never seen any piercings on Augere. Most likely it was not him.

“I hope it’s not your friend,” she said, giving him a sidelong glance, as she began to mix a drink for another patron.

“Why do you say that?”

“Well, let’s just say—he’s not very pleasant. Kind of a bastard, really.”

“It might not be him,” Jason acknowledged.

“I’ve told him if he wasn’t so pricky, I wouldn’t have to be such a condom about it. No ID, no absinthe.”

Jason nodded with a slight smile then sipped his drink. The bartender held a thoughtful expression as she was wiping down the bar and then she paused. “Damn easy on the eyes though, I’ll give him that. And speaking of eyes, his
are
pretty unusual.”

He left the girl a generous tip, and told her he would check in again, just in case his friend dropped by. It was the best lead he had so far, but he did not think she had been describing Augere. Still the place might be worth a second visit, just in case.

He left the bar feeling more tranquil, lucid, and strangely more hopeful than he had in a while. For a brief interval, he felt as if he did not have a care in the world. He gazed in shop windows as he strolled. He ended up at the Café du Monde again and was about to pop a piece of hot sugary beignet into his mouth when he remembered he still hadn’t made it to the Ursulines. He had let himself get distracted again and had turned in the opposite direction. He was just a few blocks from there at present, but now he felt lazy. Tomorrow. For certain, he would get there tomorrow. For what it was worth.

He sat at the café daydreaming while sipping a hot chicory flavored coffee.
All the time I was with him, I was never afraid. Of course, I didn’t know then what I do now
. But what did he really know? He was always curious about Augere; sympathetic to him; often fascinated, sometimes exasperated. Never knowing what was really going on with him. How much danger was he really in from Augere and his world? He barely had a glimpse of that and he guessed he would never know now. It was a moot point, he reminded himself.
I guess I don’t need to concern myself with any of that anymore. This really is over. Only I just haven’t been able to accept it yet
.

“Not for you, Jason.” He heard Carrie’s words again. She had been able to voice what he had not been able to.

There is nothing I can do about it,
he complained to himself with bitterness.
I asked to be let go, and that is what they did. It is not like I can just change my mind now. This is totally over. I have my resignation papers
. Which, he now realized, he had not yet returned and still had with him. It didn’t matter. It was still done. They offered him a chance to think things over and he clearly said no, that he wanted out. He wasn’t in a state of mind to think it through at the time; they knew that, Allen even told him that, but he could not see it. They tried to give him a chance. It hardly mattered now anyway.
What is done is done. I’ve probably already been replaced, or they are in the process of doing so already. I have to let go
.

He was reluctant to leave the café, even though he was beginning to feel chilled in the open air. He numbly walked the streets. He was not yet ready to go back to his hotel, but he could think of nothing else to do. At least tomorrow evening he would have the vampire walking tour to do again.

He allowed himself to sleep in a little later the next morning, rationalizing that he would stay up later that night. He was still tired and his body felt achy. He got coffee to go and began wandering the streets on his way to the Maspero. But first—the Ursulines. No distractions or excuses today. He was starting to feel pressured and a sense of panic was creeping up on him. He felt he needed to stop at the Maspero first, no matter what. Today could be the day. Even the restaurant staff seemed to be expecting him. Like he was reporting for duty.

The staff stole glances at each other as he entered. They were still nice enough to him: the guy who ordered food he never ate and beverages he rarely drank. The guy who sometimes mumbled to himself and sat watching passersby for hours.
I am becoming a mental case,
Jason cautioned himself.
They could be locking me up if I am not careful
.

It was hard to just sit there. He had resisted checking his phone, but on impulse he decided to do so. Maybe Augere had gotten Genier’s messages, and decided to call him. No messages. Not even from Genier. This was the real reason he had refrained from checking his phone for several days. He couldn’t stand the thought that Augere knew he wanted to speak with him, but refused to allow that to happen. Now having this confirmed made him feel worse. And he worried about not contacting Genier again. Not hearing from him, they might act on his behalf. If all of his belongings from Boston just showed up in a big truck at his family’s door in Minnesota—they would surely know something was wrong.

You are just delaying the inevitable,
he scolded himself.
You are going to have to deal with all of this sooner or later
.

“Okay. I choose later, then.”

He left the Maspero suddenly and walked several blocks to the corner of Ursuline Street. And could go no further. He stood at the corner with the convent just within sight. Was it fear holding him back? Fear of what? This was ridiculous. It was daylight. And even if it wasn’t, nothing could possibly happen. He’d gone to much more haunted and creepier places than the Convent could ever be; he’d stayed overnight at some of those. He’d seen and experienced some pretty strange things and was able to overcome his fears. What was stopping him from doing this right now?

Then he sighed heavily. Because it was just a big waste of time, that’s why. There was nothing to see, nothing he could learn of Augere. He was just desperate for any place to look. It was not important. Even though it might be worth a look, clearly, it was not going to happen. He could not come up with a good enough reason to advance to that next corner.

Having walked away from a meal he had ordered and not touched two hours ago, he now felt hungry. He bought a half of a muffaletta and a root beer at Central Grocery and sat outside on a nearby bench listening to live zydeco music playing a block away and thinking no sandwich had ever tasted as good as this. The tasty and filling lunch helped to revive his spirits a little.

He started wandering the French Quarter again and came to a small nondescript bar. He lingered outside for a while but then felt compelled to go inside. The place, though not much to look at from the outside, had a smallish but plush and welcoming interior. There was an old distressed wood bar, purple fabric covered bar stools and several comfortable looking armchairs and small sofas, all done in softly inviting fabrics. But what immediately caught his eye was a display on one wall: a large black baroque mirror was framed by two identical black open cabinets. The cabinets shelves stretched five feet or so wide on either side of the mirror and nearly floor to ceiling tall and were filled with votive holders of various sizes and designs, all of them repeating the Mardi Gras colors of purple, gold and green in sequences. All of these were lit, some with battery candles, and some with actual lit votives. Interspersed on the shelves were various Mardi Gras trinkets, including small stuffed alligators wearing beads; several small ceramic figures; various magnets, masks, voodoo dolls and fleur de lis items. The glow of the lights and the display of items had a charming and mesmerizing effect. Jason sat at the bar, enjoying a drink along with the ambience.

His eyes scanned the room taking in the more of the décor. The lack of TVs pleased him. Framed Mardi Gras posters, some vintage, some quite recent, hung on the walls. Skillfully painted ceramic masks also adorned part of one wall space and the mirrored bar area. Victorian brass sconces held Mardi Gras beads, while the tri-color scheme continued throughout, from the plush chairs and sofas to the purple and green painted walls with gold accents. The place had both an understated elegance and a flashy overdone look at the same time. He loved it.

It did not appear to be a touristy place as much as a tribute to the spirit of Mardi Gras. He thought it seemed more like a neighborhood hangout. Maybe a little gem the locals kept just for themselves. A neatly hand lettered sign over the bar read: HOME.

Photographs of New Orleans landmarks hung on the walls as well as numerous photos of people now probably long gone. Low key music coming through hidden speakers was softly playing, a kind of wistful Dixieland sound. Several locals—they did not look like tourists—were gathered around a large wooden boat placed at one end of the bar, talking, drinking and laughing. The wooden boat was empty but the friendly group urged Jason to come back during crawfish season when it would be overflowing with the delicious treat. He thought about coming back to this place for dinner.