The Kingmakers(103)

“Help him,” Lothaire said.

The human woman reached down with a blank stare and caught the baby under his pudgy arms. She lifted the snarling infant to her throat. The little thing latched itself onto the woman with frantic arms and legs, burying his face in the bloody neck. The sucking sound brought the attention of all the children, who gathered in a circle around the feeding.

After a few moments, the king called out, “Enough.”

The vampire nanny pulled the infant off the human, who then pulled a cloth from her pocket and pressed it against her throat. The woman stood unsteadily and walked out of the room, seemingly unperturbed by the hungry glances of the royal brood.

Lothaire turned to Gareth with a cheerful smile. “Shall we adjourn to more comfortable quarters?”

“Yes.” Gareth studied his friend with new eyes. “Why did you allow that woman to live?”

The king bristled as if at a common criticism. “Why are you, of all people, asking me that? You are Dmitri’s son. Surely you believe in moderation and preservation?”

“I do,” Gareth replied quickly. “I’m not criticizing you. I applaud it. It’s just an unusual attitude for our people.”

Lothaire set his little son on his feet with a comforting pat on the backside. “I have many mouths to feed, and I am merely a poor king. I have to use human bloodnurses, of course, but I see no reason to kill humans just to feed.”

“I knew I was right to come to Paris.” Gareth smiled and placed his arm over his friend’s shoulder, feeling a sense of comradeship with one of his own that he hadn’t felt in over a century. The French king latched a companionable arm around Gareth’s waist as they left the room just like they were still old hunting partners out for a night of adventure.



The two vampires slipped from a window in the Tuileries and lifted over the city, silently agreeing on the direction. They floated over the Seine, looking down on the jumbled structures and tight lanes of the Rive Gauche, still like the killing grounds of old. Gareth felt a disturbing sense of comfort. Life had been simpler in those days; well, perhaps not simpler but more direct. Feeding and staying hidden were never easy tasks, but they were at least clear.

He followed Lothaire to the very familiar terrain of old Montparnasse. They settled by an old stone wall with a gate now rusted and fallen aside. They padded down stone steps into murky passageways where they were surrounded by bones. Every wall was stacked with skeletons. One wall boasted long leg bones and another skulls. Many of the macabre collections were still in artful displays with skeletal faces peering out over crossed long bones. The floors were littered with more recent skeletons left from vampire feedings. Even so, there were humans inhabiting the catacombs. Gareth heard them moving about, and not far away. They seemed to have little fear.

“Remember this place?” Lothaire asked as Gareth looked around in confusion.

“Of course. We lived here centuries ago.” Gareth waved at the macabre walls. “But it wasn’t full of bones back then.”

“No. Not too long before the Great Killing, humans decided to use this place for their dead,” Lothaire replied. “And they organized their refuse in clever designs. For some reason. Humans are strange. Or used to be. They’re fairly predictable now.”

“Paris seems quite active with humans. Quite different than London.”

The king shrugged. “In general, I leave them be as long as they don’t cause trouble. Day-to-day things have to be done, and they work better if some of them aren’t fearful for their lives at every turn. Herds can sustain themselves nicely so long as you don’t cull them to the breaking point. And I try to impress on the clan lords outside Paris to keep slaughter to a minimum.”

“Have you had much success impressing that on them?”

“Not much, I fear. But things change slowly with us.” Lothaire sighed, and then said with a sarcastic tone, “I hear rumors that you treat your Scottish herds like they’re your family.”

“Oh, I treat them much better than that.” Gareth laughed and hummed thoughtfully as he ran his hands over the knobby ends of countless femurs. He stuck his fingers into the eyeholes of a skull and pulled it from the wall, tossing it toward his friend. Lothaire reacted quickly, but fumbled the white object that clattered to the stones at his feet.

He looked up quizzically. “Why are you throwing garbage at me?”

“Just to see if you could catch it.”

“Why?”

“No reason. I assume you haven’t lived in these catacombs for a while.”

“No. I live at the Tuileries Palace. Although I do come here frequently. I like it here. Gareth, I hope you’ll stay in Paris for a little while. Or are you hurrying away?”