Strictly Taboo(80)

“I’m sorry, Sir.” She said, leaning backwards to stay out of his range of motion. “I…umm…let me see if I can’t get them to keep it down…” Keeping her eyes fixated on him, she walked towards the curtain that separated the two classes and then quickly disappeared behind it. Even out of sight, he could smell the fear that emanated from her every pore.

Francis sat down with a satisfied sigh.



Francis L. Holmes had always taken pleasure in scaring mortals. It was a perk that came with the territory. And there were many. In fact, there was only one drawback to being immortal that he had found throughout his lifetime – well two if you counted the necessity for blood supplementation – and that was the necessity to continue the bloodline. It was much more than a slight inconvenience, however. To fail to produce an heir would mean the end of his bloodline’s rule. To fail to protect that heir until he reached the age of immortality at thirty mortal years, would've equally devastating.

For thousands of years, the drafty stone castle in Bran, Romania, had been home to the Holmes clan. As each new generation was borne, another was pushed out – such a practice ensures that only the strongest rule. Failure to produce an heir on the part of Francis would result in usurpation of his position by a younger member of the clan, an offspring of another – perhaps a cousin once removed. And Francis was not going to tolerate anyone less than his own child taking his throne. It was his destiny to lose control of the historical estate, but he was going to ensure that it was to no one other than his own child. This, however, caused difficulty. Francis would have to secure someone able to bear his progeny. Someone capable of carrying such a unique creature that, sensing its mother’s weakness, may self-destruct taking her with it. This involved very little love and much more genetic planning. But as Francis had already found out, questioning someone’s genetics was generally not the best way to go about finding a mother for your child. So he had undertaken the task of searching the globe for a mate, someone strong enough and preferably willing, to carry his child. He began with New York.



“Sir?” A different flight attendant from the last appeared beside Francis’s row of seats. He looked up at her questioningly. “Sir, I’m afraid I’m going to have to ask you to buckle your seatbelt. The captain has turned on the light and we will be landing shortly.” The young woman seemed to be asking for his cooperation more than telling him it was a necessity, but Francis obliged. She looked relieved. “Thank you, Sir.” She disappeared back to the first class galley and Francis returned his gaze to the window.

“I think you scared that last girl off!” Francis turned to find a rather obese man with red cheeks looking at him from the opposite row of seats. He stared at him blankly. “The last flight attendant that was here?” The man said. “I think you…”

“I understand what you mean.” Francis said, his voice deep and resonating. “Why would you think such a thing?” The color drained from the man’s face with the exception of the two red patches that permanently stained his cheeks.

“I just…what I meant was…hey, look, man, I was just kidding around.” The man held up his hands. “No harm, no foul!” Francis could smell his fear, he could also smell the body odor that was emanating from his armpits. His upper lip curled as his nostrils widened.

“Yes…no harm, no foul.” Francis repeated in a haunting refrain.

In any other situation, Francis would have pulled the man aside and shown him what it really meant to scare someone, but not today…at least not in the first class cabin of a 767.

For the remaining thirty minutes of the flight, Francis kept a close eye on the fat man with red cheeks. For his part, the fat man with red cheeks kept his eyes locked on the window. Not even when the flight attendant passed requesting his trash, did he look away from it. Francis smiled to himself. He may not have been able to dish out his usual form of punishment, but he was satisfied with the fear he was able to impart.

When the plane landed, and Francis disembarked, he was greeted by a rather pale looking boy who couldn’t have been more than eighteen years old. He held a rather large cardboard sign with Francis’s full name scrawled out in black marker. Francis couldn’t help but shudder at what passed for good help these days. He instructed the boy to fetch his trunk from the baggage claim area and once he had disappeared, Francis stepped outside.

The air in New York was polluted and thick with the smell of car exhaust and people. Francis reached inside his blazer pocket and pulled out a glinting silver cigarette case. Flipping it open, he slid the hand rolled cigarette between his plump lips.