Blood and Gold - Anne Rice [15]
“Come,” said Marius. “Another place.”
Out into the night they went again. It was only a few short paces to a large gambling den, this one filled with the green tables on which men play the game of craps, and on which the wheels spun for the all-important winning numbers.
“There, you see,” said Marius, pointing with his gloved finger at a tall gaunt black-haired young man who had withdrawn from the game, holding his cold glass of ale in his hand, only watching. “Take him into the corner. There are so many places along the wall.”
Immediately Thorne went to it. With a hand on the young man’s shoulder he looked into his eyes. He must be able now to use the old Spell Gift which so many blood drinkers were lacking. “You come with me,” he said. “You’ve been waiting for me.” It reminded him of old hunts and old battles.
He saw the mist in the young man’s eyes, he saw the memory vanish. The young man went with him to the bench along the wall, and there they sat together. Thorne massaged the neck with thumb and fingers before he drank, thinking quietly within himself, Now your life will be mine, and then he sank his teeth deep and he drew easily and slowly with all his power.
The flood poured into his soul. He saw the dingy images of rampant crime, of other lives snuffed out by his victim with no thought of judgment or punishment. Give me only your blood. He felt the heart inside the man burst. And then he released the body, and let it lie back against the wall. He kissed the wound, letting a bit of his own blood heal it.
Waking from the dream of the feast, he gazed about the dim smoky room, so full of strangers. How alien all humans seemed, and how hopeless their plight. Cursed as he was, he could not die, but death was breathing on all of them.
Where was his Marius? He couldn’t find him! He rose from the bench, eager to get away from the victim’s soiled and ugly body, and he moved into the press again, stumbling full on a hard-faced, cruel man who took the nudge as an opportunity for a quarrel.
“You pushing me, man?” said the mortal with narrow hateful eyes as he gazed at Thorne.
“Come now,” said Thorne, probing the mind, “have you killed men just for pushing you?”
“I have,” said the other, his mouth in a cruel sneer. “I’ll kill you too, if you don’t get out of here.”
“But let me give you my kiss,” said Thorne, and clutching this one by the shoulders he bent to sink his teeth as the others around him, totally unaware of the secret fangs, laughed at this intimate and puzzling gesture. He drew a rich draught. Then licked the place artfully.
The hateful stranger was baffled and weakened, and tottered on his feet. His friends continued to laugh.
Quickly Thorne made his way out of the place and into the snow, and there he found Marius waiting for him. The wind was stronger than before, but the snow itself had stopped falling.
“The thirst is so strong now,” said Thorne. “When I slept in the ice, I kept it like a beast chained up, but now it rules me. Once begun, I can’t stop. I want more even now.”
“Then more you’ll have. But kill you can’t. Not even in such a city as large as this. Come, follow me.”
Thorne nodded. He had already killed. He looked at Marius, confessing this crime silently. Marius shrugged his shoulders. Then he put his arm around Thorne as they walked on.
“We’ve many places to visit.”
It was almost dawn when they returned to the house.
Down into the wood-lined cellar they went, and there Marius showed Thorne to a chamber cut into the stone. The walls of it were cold, but a large sumptuous bed had been made inside the chamber, hung with brightly colored linen draperies, and heaped with intricately sewn covers. The mattress looked thick and so did the many pillows.
It was startling to Thorne that there was no crypt, no true hiding place. Anyone could find him here. It seemed as simple as his cave in the North, but far more inviting, far more luxurious. He was so tired in all his limbs that he could scarce speak. Yet he was anxious.
“Who is to disturb us here?” asked Marius. “Other blood