Red meets a vampire's servant, who is strangely open with him; Red and William prepare to welcome a vampire visitor.

Chapter Text



Purple Rhdodendron flickr photo by Me in ME shared under a Creative Commons (BY) license

Ajaccio, Corsica, France

February, 1945

Elodia Ferrari lived on Corsica, in the town of Bonifacio. This was all Red knew about her for certain.

The letters William had Red send were almost always addressed to her, and most of the letters that William received had her name written in elegant cursive on the back of the outer envelope.

Aside from letters, Elodia Ferrari sent gifts. This was not unusual, for William received a lot of those gifts-as-messages, to which he always responded. One of the more recent gifts Elodia Ferrari had sent was a tapestry. William had remarked that the threads were torn roughly, instead of delicately cut. He said it showed her impatience.

He hadn’t sent a tapestry back: he’d told Red that it wasn’t his style, to weave. So then, in response to that tapestry, he baked Elodia a cake. A more un-William-like activity, Red could not imagine. However, the cake had a variety of metal objects baked into it—a small toy car, half a dozen small spoons, a thimble, and a pair of glasses without lenses, to name a few. He’d arranged them carefully in the baking tray, poured the batter over it, and cooked it until it was soft and spongy and golden. It was almost certainly inedible—but still, it was a cake.

The following evening, William had given it an elaborate coat of icing: swirls and rosettes in subtle shades of colours that blended seamlessly together. Red sent that—and a letter—to Elodia Ferrari. It had taken some doing, to find someone who would deliver it without damaging it, but by now the delivery people in town had become used to the strange things that Red’s patron needed to send,

Red wasn’t jealous, exactly: vampires were a little strange, if they were all like William (and he assumed they were). He could imagine a perfectly innocent conversation requiring (in a vampire’s eyes) many letters and gifts, to fastidiously explain all the senders meant to convey (probably about some ridiculously simple thing). And she lived on Corsica, not even four hours from Ajaccio. Surely, it would be much simpler for them to discuss whatever it was in person? Yet, as far as Red knew, she had never so much as set foot in the town, let alone visited their home.

And William, of all people, had baked her a cake.

And so, Red couldn’t hold back his curiosity any longer: who on earth was Elodia Ferrari?

He asked William as much, at dinner.

“Who’s Elodia Ferrari?” Red asked.

“Duchess Elodia of Genoa.” William replied. As usual, he answered the question while providing Red with nothing of value.

“A friend of yours?” Red asked: if he had any doubts, with a title like that she had to be a vampire.

William shook his head. “This island is her domain. She appreciates updates on the state of the city, about the humans I make use of, and so on.” Updates on the state of the city was a strange way of saying ‘exchanging a lot of gifts’, including a giant, elaborately decorated cake that would have broken your teeth if you’d tried to eat it.

“Oh, so are we going to be staying here a lot longer?” After nine months in the cottage, Red had begun to wonder if it was going to be a long-term arrangement. He wasn’t sure if he liked that: he missed his life back home, even though he knew he would probably never be able to go back. And a 60 year stay in Corsica probably wouldn’t seem that long to William. There were worse places to be. And he was almost accustomed to not having windows.

William shook his head. “No. The war is looking better and better for the United Nations*. I would imagine it will soon be safe to move freely, perhaps as early as six months from now. We can go back to the mainland. Travel. I can show you Tournai, where I was born.”

“Where's that?”

“Belgium.” William smiled for some reason as he said it.

“Wow. You're Belgian?”

“It was not called Belgium when I was born, my dear.”

Red nodded. “Right.” He hadn't really thought about that; he wondered how long Belgium had existed. William hated answering questions about his age, so he would have to find out on his own.

The next morning he opened one of the volumes of his already well-used encyclopaedia. He looked at the entry on Belgium; ‘the name Belgium only came into general use with the foundation of the modern kingdom in 1830’, it said. He should have expected as much—William was too fastidious to leak information so easily.

There was a loud knock at the door four days later. Red opened his eyes and was met with the perpetual darkness of their home. He hoped that whoever it was would go away; they almost always did.

The knocking continued. Red groaned. He looked to William, who lay there stiff, cold, and insensible in the soft bed. Nothing would wake William up. However, Red found himself hoping that the loud, repetitive knocking that rang through the house might do the trick. It certainly was ringing throughout his head.

Another knock. Red fumbled for the switch for his reading lamp. He squinted, sat up in bed and took a few deep breaths. He glanced beside him at William, who lay on his side, stiff and still. He smiled and absent-mindedly stroked William’s arm, firm and unyielding like the skin of a pumpkin.

The knocking continued. Surely their arm must be getting tired?

Red pulled himself out of the soft bed, pulled on a pair of slacks, and calmly walked to the front door, closing and locking all the interior doors between them. William’s daytime security precautions were long and tedious but for once Red didn’t mind. It served the visitor right, he reasoned, for the loud, incessant knocking.

Who would be knocking on their door in the middle of the day? Maybe a neighbour, or perhaps one of William’s ‘admirers’ had worked out where he lived (he called them janissaries, whatever that meant—according to his encyclopaedia, they were soldiers in the Ottoman Empire, which couldn’t possibly be relevant). Surely William was more careful than that; and if they were smart enough to figure out their address, they should be smart enough to realise that vampires sleep during the day.

He locked the door between the vestibule and the rest of the house as William had instructed him. Then he moved the peephole cover aside, and took a look at his visitor. She was a tall fat woman with dark brown eyes, carrying a basket whose contents were hidden beneath a piece of thick fabric. Her long grey hair was pinned into a bun, and she wore a simple, but high-quality, dress. She looked like a rich man’s wife, the sort of woman who never bothered walking her children to school because they had a servant who would do it for her. He didn’t recognise her from town.

He adjusted his slacks, wished he’d taken the time to put on a shirt, and swung the door open. “Bonjour.”

“Bonjour. I have a gift and a letter for King William of New Holland, from Duchess Elodia of Genoa,” the woman said politely in French. She spoke with an accent, though hers was not nearly as thick as Red knew that his was.

“Oh, thank you,” Red replied, managing to stifle a giggle. ‘King’ William? He knew that vampires loved their titles, but William wasn’t like that. “We’ve never had a... visitor.” He studied her, wondering if she posed them any danger, and what he was meant to do about it if she did. She was taller than he was, and while her arms were soft and fleshy, underneath lay hard, dense muscle.

She smiled. “Well, it is my pleasure to be the first. Her grace wishes to provide his majesty with a small token of her esteem.”

“Merci, Madame…” He held his hand out to shake. ‘His majesty’? Did she have any idea how ridiculous she sounded?

“Signorina Raffali. Lucia Raffali,” she corrected him, casually moving the basket and letter into her left hand to offer him her right.

“Carlo Rossi,” he responded, shaking her hand. He had been using his false name around town—you could never be too careful. “Thank you for the gift. I am sure, uh, King William will be... most pleased,” he said, trying to match her style, even though he felt ridiculous.

When Lucia handed him the basket, Red almost dropped it. He could feel the wicker digging into his palm. It must have weighed a hundred pounds! How could this woman lift it at all, let alone in one hand, and so casually, too? He held onto it with gritted teeth.

“Not very strong now, are you? How old did his majesty say he was?” she said, chuckling to herself as though this was all some big joke.

Red hesitated, confused by the question, and realising all of a sudden that he didn’t have an exact answer. “Older than Belgium,” he replied, gently lowering the basket onto the floor.

Lucia chuckled again. “Ohh, that’s nice.” She paused, and straightened her shoulders and continued in a level tone. “I am sure I will see you soon, Signore Rossi.”

“Thank you, Signorina Raffali.” Red locked the door behind her as she left.

He rubbed his hand. By jove, that basket was heavy! What on earth could be inside? And what an odd woman: his majesty, really! He chuckled, and went back to bed. It could wait.

Red slept a few more hours, waking up at about midday. He picked the day’s newspaper off the doorstep, though its complex French could still be a challenge for him at times. William happily helped Red make sense of the more difficult passages every evening.

With the radio squawking in the background, Red ate a few thick pieces of toast and jam before letting Chestnut inside and filling her food bowl. Then he decided to go investigate the basket.

He knew better than to meddle with it. William found it disconcerting when Red did such things. He picked the basket up from the floor, this time prepared for the effort. It definitely weighed at least a hundred pounds.

The letter was about average thickness: five or ten heavy pieces of paper and a hard wax seal, this one a deep forest green. William would be pleased with it. After displaying the letter and the basket neatly on the dining room table, Red decided to take Chestnut for a walk and see if he could find some wildflowers to put on the table, too.

As they walked, Red couldn’t stop thinking about the way Lucia had spoken about William. He knew William’s friends liked their fancy, ornate titles, but William wasn’t like that. He was down to earth. Honestly, his majesty? It was all he could do not to burst out laughing when she’d said it.

William was a bit eccentric, sure. He was a vampire, and a gentleman. But having people call him your majesty? He was too normal for that.

When the sun set and William woke up, he found Red in the sitting room, reading a French detective novel with Chestnut curled up at his feet. William was glad that Red’s skill in reading had increased enough that he could enjoy the novels—he knew that Red was bored during the day.

“Good evening,” Red said, kissing William as he sat down beside him. As they embraced, William enjoyed the warm sensation. William took a deep breath: Red smelled of the outdoors, of sunshine, of pollen.

“How was the weather today?”

“It’s been getting warmer. Lots of sunshine today. Went on a nice, long walk with Chestnut.” Red smiled. “Also, we had a delivery. A lady named Lucia Raffali gave us a basket and a letter from her, uh, mistress. Duchess Elodia.”

“Excellent.” William smiled; as a hand-delivered package, it would be important news. Red frowned slightly, wondering whether William understood how weirdly reverent Elodia had been.

“She was strange.”

“How do you mean?”

“Just the way she spoke. Duchess Elodia,” Red said, extravagantly. “She must really be keen on this whole royalty thing. King William! His majesty! I mean, really.” He looked at William, grinning, expecting him to be in on the joke.

Instead of smiling or laughing, though, his face was motionless. Red hesitated, realising he was doing something wrong, but not sure what.

“I mean…” he continued. “King? New Holland? What the hell is that? Why couldn’t you be the king of the real Holland? Do you live in a windmill? How do you feel about tulips?” As William’s face worked its way into a frown, a horror came over Red as he realised he was making things worse.

“My position has been hard-earned. Lucia and Duchess Elodia are both right to treat me with the appropriate respect.” There was an edge of venom in the words.

“So, this king thing is… real?” Red had always assumed it was a daft vampire parlour game that William didn’t take very seriously, not a point of pride.

“Very.”

“Oh. I’m sorry. I didn’t mean… I had no idea.”

William felt uncomfortable seeing Red like this. “Hmm… I suppose it makes you my royal consort.” he mused.

“I’ll have to change how I sign my letters. And start using two envelopes.” Red teased, relieved that William had not been too hurt.

“Naturally.” William gave a slight smile, and Red saw the last of the tension leave his shoulders. “Where are the things that she brought me?”

“Right in the dining room.” Red gestured. William walked into the dining room, and saw the way Red had arranged the things from earlier: the basket, the letter, and a small vase of myrtle. He paused, caressing the white flowers with the back of his fingers. He brought his hand to his face and smelled it, smiling. Red tried to hide his pride.

“Thank you for the flowers. They are lovely.” This was not the first time Red had brought him small tokens of affection, but William was not accustomed to receiving such gifts. They usually contained only a single, simple shade of meaning. They were so pure, so unlike the things that vampires sent each other.

William took the cloth off the basket. Sitting inside was a statuette of a tree, about a foot in length, made out of a silvery metal. No doubt platinum if Duchess Elodia did not intend to offend. He picked it up, immediately able to identify it as platinum by its weight. He quickly counted the leaves and branches, and examined the angle at which each branch was held. Elodia was glad he was taking such careful care of her land; she was honoured someone of his status was staying in her domain; she wanted to visit him; and she wished to exchange news and information. He put the statuette down and broke the wax seal on the letter. He sat down as he went through the pages, studying each. It expanded on the tree’s message, providing the sort of details that were not better communicated by platinum statuettes. Finally, he placed the letter aside.

“Duchess Elodia shall be visiting very soon.”

“How soon?” Red could feel his body tense up: he had never seen another vampire before. He thought back to the preposterous estates in Rome. Well, not when he knew what they were.

“She shall be here in three weeks.”

Red relaxed. “Oh, that’s fine then.”

“You have much to learn in that time, Red,” William said, putting on an outward air of serenity. He was anxious that Red would not be able to learn enough etiquette to be passable when Elodia visited.

“I am smarter than I look, you know," he grinned.

“Even so, it will be years before you are familiar with everything you must know. Come, I must begin teaching you at once.”

March, 1945

When Elodia was due to arrive, Red felt that he had only begun to scratch the surface of vampire etiquette.

The basics were simple, at least. Around vampires and their associates, he was not William. He was not even Mister Ryan, as he had been what felt like a lifetime ago when they had first met. He was King William or, in the second person, Your Majesty. The vampire visitor was to be addressed as Duchess Elodia or ‘Your Grace’. Red wondered whether that meant she was one of William’s subjects. If so, Red hoped William could order her to be patient with him.

What wasn’t simple was the exacting way he had to be dressed—though it wasn’t entirely unexpected, what with all the time William spent dressing every morning, and how he’d sometimes change outfits several times a day. Red had collected swatches of all the local tailor’s fabrics, which William scrutinised and compared before finally he settled on fabrics for Red’s brand new suit, shirt, and tie. When Red tried the ensemble on, William re-arranged each element (including relacing his shoes), and gently scolded him for the inexpert way he had knotted his tie. Red tolerated this patiently. He knew that this was important to William, from the way he flinched ever so slightly whenever Red unthinkingly smoothed his collar from the way that it had been set.

William went over the ceremony he would be conducting with Elodia, having him practise each part until he did it unthinkingly. It involved, among other things, the ritual consumption of carefully prepared cups of blood. Red had absolutely no desire to do anything to a cup of blood, careful or otherwise. Fortunately, one of Elodia’s servants would be doing the preparation work in the kitchen, so Red only had to worry about the serving. Even that consisted of taking a tray of delicate porcelain teacups to the dining table and placing them exactly, their handles angled just so, with precisely timed pauses between each.

Although his knowledge was far from perfect, Red did feel prepared. William had assured him that nothing bad happened at visits like these, though the fact he felt a need to reassure Red was itself rather unnerving. But at the end of the day, this was just one of William’s colleagues coming to visit. She would surely be patient and understanding, especially considering it was his first time participating in a ritual.

The cottage was immaculate, the master bedroom vacated for Elodia and outfitted with the finest linen Red could find at the market. The upstairs guest dormitory had been appointed for Elodia’s servants to share with Red, with William moving into the other bedroom upstairs. Red was not excited about sharing a bedroom with five other people, but it would only be for a few days. He felt worse for poor Chestnut, who wouldn’t be allowed inside at all for the duration of the visit. Red planned to spoil her with longer walks than usual during the day.

Red was dressed in his new suit, his tie and shoes fastened in accordance with William’s exacting requirements. He felt ridiculous, and would have felt overdressed if it wasn’t for the fact that William’s outfit was more outrageous still.

William was wearing a full suit of a type Red had only ever seen in picture books: a fine pale pink linen shirt, with the collar standing vertically around his neck. It made Red think that he’d forgotten to fold it down after tying his tie. The tie was maroon, made into a simple horizontal bow—not the more complex, traditional bow-tie knot. This seemed like an odd departure from the usual, needlessly complex vampire traditions. There was a button up vest over the shirt, patterned in maroon and navy checks, and over the whole ensemble he wore a long white coat (with tails), and matching white pants. His shoes seemed positively ordinary in comparison: black slip ons with square toes. They looked more comfortable than Red’s shoes, but that was the only part of the outfit that he envied.

At exactly the appointed time, an automobile parked out the front of their cottage, and six people walked out: Lucia, a young man, an older man, two young ladies and someone who could only be Elodia. She was dressed in a fine seafoam ball gown, covered in flower shapes formed from shimmering jewels that had been meticulously sewn into the fabric. It had short sleeves trimmed with lace and a tight bodice that finished just below the heavy, diamond-studded necklace that clung tightly to her neck. The skirt was so full, so expanded by the number of ruffles that Red wondered if it would be able to squeeze through the door. Elodia’s hair was long, dark brown, and in curls that were pinned at the back of her head. Her attendants wore more modern attire; the gentlemen in suits similar to Red’s, and the ladies in gowns that were far less extravagant.

Red opened the door to ensure Duchess Elodia was invited in at once. “Welcome, please, come in, your grace.” He bowed deeply as he had rehearsed with William dozens of times. She pursed her lips and moved them sideways in what she must have thought would pass for a smile, nodded, and entered the cottage.

Elodia’s entourage followed her in, standing behind her in two neat lines. Lucia stood beside her, and they all looked at Red expectantly. Red stood there, on the cold slate floor, in his starchy suit. William was at Red’s side, which was enough to keep Red’s racing heartbeat to a manageable level, and to stop his hands from shaking too much. He felt safe.

Red hesitated, only for a moment, as he took care to recite the words perfectly. “On behalf of his majesty, I welcome Doge Elodia De Ferrari, the reclaimer of Corsica, the scourge of the three rivers, the destroyer of…” Red ran over the next name in his head, making sure he would pronounce it correctly. “...Norina, she who binds her enemies, footstool of... Mpenoi.”

William inclined his head slightly in a small bow. Red breathed a sigh of relief. He had done well. He stood a little straighter, and tried not to beam.

“And her grace is grateful to be received by King William, most high and most excellent King by the grace of God, conqueror of New Holland, the foundling, uniter of the five lands, the comprimario of Castile, soother of warring clans, the greedy diner.” Lucia spoke the words with the speed of an auctioneer, as fluidly as though they were a prayer she had recited since she was small. Elodia curtseyed, leaning much further forward than William had for his bow. Red realised with a start how short she was; she could not have been more than five feet tall, but the dress, the high-heeled shoes, and the gems that hung from her ears made her impossible to overlook. And although her body didn’t look much older than Red’s, there was something about her dark eyes that made it clear that they had very little in common.

William addressed Elodia in what sounded like rapid-fire Italian. She responded in kind. After a few moments, Elodia looked to Lucia and spoke to her in Italian that was slow enough for Red to understand.

“Take them to bed now.”

“Yes, your grace,” Lucia responded in Italian. She paused for a moment, gave Red a wry grin, and continued in French, to Red’s relief. “Would you please show us to the lodging his majesty has set aside for us? We would like some rest.”

“At once.” Red bowed deeply, his stiff posture and concealed grimace almost betraying how ridiculous he felt. He had to keep reminding himself that Elodia and her entourage were, by all accounts, serious players and that this was not some elaborate prank. He had learned a lot these past months. He knew what William was—intimately—but it was still hard to find this strangely-dressed woman threatening at all.

He escorted the party to the room that had been organised for them. The attendants, who were weary after what was no doubt a long and bumpy trip, eagerly stripped to their underclothes and climbed into the warm, comfortable beds. The older man put on a pair of spectacles and started reading a book; the two women brought out some embroidery hoops and began to work on them; and the young man seemed to fall asleep the moment his head hit the pillow. Apparently not as weary as the others, Lucia closed the door behind them and gave Red a conspiratorial smile.

“Could we have a cup of tea somewhere whilst his majesty and her grace meet? I’m not quite tired yet.”

“Of course. Is the kitchen okay?” Red asked, leading her downstairs. “I’m still... learning some of these things. I don’t want to be rude.”

She nodded. “That sounds fine.”

When they reached the kitchen, Red automatically went for the jar of coffee before remembering that William had advised him to follow her lead. “I only have black tea, is that alright?” he asked, fetching the sugar and going to open the icebox. “And, well, sweet tea, but William said that no one drinks that outside of the United States, but you can try it if you like,” he said, recalling the look of ever so slight disapproval when he had suggested to William that he ought to provide a pitcher of sweet tea as well.

“A local specialty? I would love to try some.”

“Well, not local here. It’s a big thing back home, though.” Red smiled, put the sugar away, and poured two tall glasses of sweet tea. This evening had been so strange already that this small taste of home was welcome.

“So, I take it you’re new to all of this?” Lucia asked, smiling as she sipped on her tea.

“Apparently, yes,” he said, pausing to take a sip of his own beverage; it was so sweet it hurt his teeth. Just the way he liked it. “And you? I assume you’re not.”

“I suppose not.” She laughed. “I’ve been working with her grace for nearly a century, now.”

Red coughed on his tea, the sugary liquid burning into his nose. “A century?”

“How new are you?” Lucia gave him a suspicious look; could the rumours be true? Was this man only as old as William’s tenure on Corsica?

“I've been with him…” He thought for a moment, but quickly realised she was not interested in a precise date. “Ten months?”

“Wow.” Elodia would be delighted by this new information.

“You would have been new, too, what, ninety nine years ago,” he offered, with a small, forced smile. “Wow. A century,” he repeated, still not quite believing it. “How old are you then, and how are you....” He paused. “Sorry. That was rude. My mom raised me not to ask a lady her age. Sorry.”

Lucia seemed not to have heard Red, still balking from his earlier remark. “Has his majesty really given you nothing?”

“No, he gives me things. He got me this suit last week. Spent a lot of time on it, too,” he said fondly, absentmindedly rubbing at the lapel with his thumb. He knew he was missing some important detail, but was desperately trying not to make it obvious. He thought of William and how badly he didn’t want to embarrass him. It seemed more impossible by the second.

She gave him another chuckle. “My, it has been a long time since I’ve spoken with an ordinary person. You’re just a janissary, aren’t you?”

“Well, I suppose so,” Red admitted, though he didn’t like the idea of being on the same level as the faceless people that William visited twice a week.

“Yes. But you work much more closely with King William than I would have expected for a janissary. He must trust you a lot more than anyone in their right mind should, or he’s too selfish to give you anything more than this.” Or, she mused, he has spread himself too thin with thralls elsewhere; or lacks the mental fortitude to subdue even one.

Red frowned, a bit taken aback by the accusations. “He’s not... what do you mean, give me more? He looks out for me plenty as it is, I wouldn’t ask any more of him.”

“I suppose he has time; you’re still rather young. Maybe he’ll be ready to promote you in a year or two. Maybe he’ll wait twenty, if he prefers the more distinguished look,” she grinned, gesturing to her long grey hair. “Then you can experience the many joys of co-ordinating janissaries, shopping for rare books, and the daily chore of waiting for sunset.”

“What do you mean, promote?” Red asked, furrowing his brow. “I hadn’t really thought... I’ve been taking things day by day since we left Rome.”

“It’s not really my place to…” she said obliquely, still grinning; she clearly had decided to tell him anyway. “One day, he will ask you to drink some of his blood.” With that sentence, she moved to the informal form of address.

Red wrinkled his nose. “Oh.” He wondered, idly, if the informal ‘you’ had just been a mistake; that happened, sometimes.

“You see, he feeds from you, right?” She continued to speak informally, as though he was a friend, instead of the more formal language she’d been using before.

“Yes, but… he’s a vampire. It makes sense for him to drink blood, but I don’t… ugh.” He took another sip of tea, trying to imagine what William’s blood would taste like. He wished he hadn’t.

She shook her head. “No, that’s not what I meant. You know how after he feeds, everything’s… clearer? You don’t really need to sleep?”

“Well. Yes?”

“If you get that just from him biting you, imagine what you’d get from drinking his blood…”

“I hadn’t really thought…” Red murmured. He was also acutely aware of how familiarly she was speaking with him, and how William had told him in no uncertain terms not to address anyone informally. For now, Red was trying to avoid needing to pick one ‘you’ or the other by not addressing her directly.

“That’s the real magic. It’s what’s kept me alive all these years. I’m surprised a king who is as old as her grace says his majesty is does not have two or three thralls.”

“Thralls?”

She laughed. “Blood-fed-people. We have a lot of names. Serfs. Vassals. Ghouls. The more modern ones call us thralls, and I prefer it. Sounds more civilised.”

“But what do they do with them?” Red asked, not trying to hide how confused he was anymore. “What’s its use? I mean, from their end?”

“They benefit very well from doing this to us.” She paused. “We can serve them better. I saw how difficult it was for you to lift that basket.”

“I guess so,” he replied, still not understanding. “Are you happy? All of you, I mean?” He felt quite clever, using the plural ‘you’ to get out of the whole formal/informal conundrum.

“Of course. She asks very little in return for what she gives us.”

“Now we are far enough from the house we may speak freely,” Lucia told Red the next day; they were at the market together. The other four humans seemed to have no interest in going into town; they stayed at home, played cards, did embroidery or read books. Red was glad to be out at the market; the warm spring sunshine and the soft breeze made it a pleasant day for it.

“What?” Red didn’t look up from adjusting the fruit in his basket. There was a new hire at the market stall today who apparently wasn’t aware that strawberries could bruise; already their rough flesh felt too soft. “What are you talking about?” He’d decided, finally, to keep addressing her with the formal ‘you’: she was older than him, after all, so it was up to her to tell him to do otherwise.

“Do you have any idea what you’ve gotten yourself involved in?”

Red looked at her briefly, trying to think what she could possibly be trying to tell him now, here. “Was this about the woman giving me that bottle of wine? Because I know what people say about her, but she’s just a generous old lady and I brought her dog back once. That’s all.”

Lucia frowned, walking away from the fruit stall, where their conversation would be less easily overheard. “No. I am talking about the master of the house.”

Red returned the frown, his mind racing as he tried to work out how he could possibly respond to that without being rude. “What do you mean, exactly?” he decided on.

“He and Elodia aren’t…” She lowered her voice, for the first time not referring to Elodia as ‘her grace’. “…They aren’t normal. And I don’t think you understand exactly what that means.”

“I know about the… you know.” He put one hand just above his upper lip, tapping on the skin over his canines with the tips of his pointer and middle finger. He got the feeling that this strange new version of Lucia would flinch if he said the ‘v’ word.

“I think you don’t know the half of it.”

“I don’t doubt that,” Red agreed. “Did something happen? You seem… different.”

“They hear everything we say, even if they are talking in another room. Did you know that?”

“Wait, what? I knew their hearing was good, but I didn’t…” He studied her for a moment. “Were you worried about being heard yesterday? Is that why you’re talking about this now?”

“Yes. I don’t know what William is like,” she said, again not using the formal titles that William had made clear were not optional. “But I’ve seen a lot of young people like you… that don’t understand what they’re dealing with.”

“What do you mean?”

Lucia frowned. “They think they are going on some grand adventure, trying a wonderful drug, perhaps escaping something so horrible that the risk is worthwhile. But… I have seen many be killed.”

“Ah.” Red considered that for a few moments. “I thought that might be the case.” With the strange fixation on royal titles and the lavish displays of excess he’d seen in Rome, he’d long ago come to the conclusion that few vampires were as sensitive and caring as William was.

“So I try to make sure that you… were aware of all that. That they can always, always hear you. That they can give you commands that you are powerless to resist, just by looking you in the eye. And that once you outlive your usefulness, they will kill you and not think twice about it.”

Red thought about this for a long time, carefully composing his response. If Lucia was telling the truth, this was a big deal; had William given him commands before? Was everything he’d done over the past year the result of one? Regardless, now was not the time to show his concern. He could work it out later—he couldn’t afford to embarrass William. “Thank you for telling me,” he said. “I’ll keep it in mind. I’ll be careful.” He hoped that would comfort her if she was telling the truth, and not show disloyalty if this was all some strange test.

“There are advantages too, of course. Reasons that you or I may find it to our advantage to do these acts of service,” she added. “But it’s not fair that they have so many take these risks without knowing—or string them along with false promises.”

Red furrowed his brow. “But what about you? Are you… all right?” he finished, trying to find the words.

Lucia laughed. “I’m a hundred and forty seven years old and I can carry more than a young buck like you. I live in a luxurious seaside estate in Bonifacio. I want for nothing.”

“Okay.” He nodded, accepting, and patted the rough skin of her arm. “If you need help, you can tell me. Okay?”

“If it pleases you.”

They slowly walked to other stalls. As the sweet smell of fruit gave way to more wholesome, earthy aromas they tried to find the best-looking greens to have with dinner. Red looked at Lucia, hoping she wouldn’t notice him staring while he was deliberating his next words. He had so many questions, and she seemed willing to answer. Even though William had always been communicative, he refused to respond to so many questions.

“Is Duchess Elodia… is she really fussy about clothing?” Red asked, allowing himself to raise his voice over the din of people bargaining nearby.

Lucia laughed again. “Oh, yes, very. She had us sent to her tailor, insisted on choosing the fabrics herself. Made sure I pinned my hair up the way she wanted me to, and adjusted it before we got out of the car.”

“Hm,” Red said. “King William was just the same. He re-did my tie and my shoelaces, too.” He felt weird using the titles when Elodia spoke so casually, but he didn’t want to reflect badly on William. For all he knew, she was trying to get him to slip up on purpose.

“Oh yes. They’re all like that. Elodia tried to explain it to me, once. The way the laces cross and the number of holes in the shoes… it’s very important.”

“What about the ritual?” Red asked, having built enough courage to question her about it. “King William said you've done one before?”

“Dozens. It’s not as bad as you think. You’ll be the server, right?”

“Yeah. King William gave me a lot of instructions, things about where to put the cups.”

“As long as you remember everything he taught you, you will be fine. I’m going to be preparing the blood. I’ll try and explain it as I go. It will be very helpful if you need to do it in the future. It’s a lot of hard work, but they seem to really like it.” She paused to place put a bag of potatoes into her basket. “Well, as much as they seem to like anything.” She grinned.