Down Memory Lane

It had been a rough week, to say the least. Hell, Francesca had lost track of the time. It could have been a month or more since Salvatore was killed, but she was still under the grip of the Mafia. They knew her habits and knew the way she moved better than she did herself, and they kept her as their weapon even after their leader’s throat was cut. They, of course, knew Francesca did it, but kept a tighter leash on the robotic vampire assassin.

Only an hour prior she had killed a man who couldn’t make his payments. His young wife would come home to find her husband dead and their possessions cleaned out by the crew that followed the assassin. She did her job, and was in an out in less than five minutes like some sort of silent attack dog.

The vampire was supposed to be onto her next assignment, but something trapped her. The weight of the murders was weighing her down, making her feel weak as a human who couldn’t quite catch their breath. What was this strange feeling? Why was it bothering her so much? It had been too long since the vampire felt guilt, and it was a foreign concept to her now. Instead of standing up and dusting herself off she slowed down to lean in an alley but the crew that followed to clean house also followed to keep Francesca in line. As soon as she stopped rather than moving onto her next job six men cornered her and reminded her just why she couldn’t escape the Mafia.

Bruised and battered she stumbled out of the alley like some low life alcoholic. One arm draped across her stomach and she clenched her jaw, swallowing the blood that was in her mouth. The vampire groaned and knitted her brows. After all the years she had been a vampire she had never learned how to slow down and let herself heal. Instead she moved until she broke, and break she did a few blocks over. Her body slumped down as it began to rain and drench her aching bones. Her black hair mangled against her face and her clothes clung to her skin. Had she been human she would have shivered down to her core, and would have stayed in the very spot she sat had it not been for a stranger who dared to get close to her. The words the woman said repeated slowly in the assassin’s mind as she stared at her, dazed and bewildered until the woman was gone and out of sight. She looked up to to see that the rain was no longer falling on her, and there was an umbrella in her hands. What had happened? The smell that lingered left her with a familiar feeling.

Days prior Francesca had been given a piece of clothing that belonged to Elizabetia Romanov. There were men in her circle that wanted Romanov dead, only to get their hands on her fortune and possessions. They gave France the clothing for her to track her once she had come to America, and that smell lingered in her nose like a pie to a cartoon. Within moments Francesca was on her feet, clutching the umbrella before tossing it behind the nearest dumpster.

It was easy for the assassin to follow the cab. She moved swiftly through the city she knew so well, her eyes locked on her prey like a predator in the jungle it called home. The vampire took a few twists and turns and snuck through alleys to shake off the crew that followed, it was simple sine they weren’t expecting her to go on the move so quickly.

The hotel that the cab pulled into was well lit and a door man greeted Elizabetia Romanov at the door after he opened her cab. From afar the wet vampire watched, sunken down far enough in the shadows to stay hidden until she thought of a better plan. Francesca knew the lay of the land well enough to sneak into the glamorous hotel, and break into the Romanov suite without being seen, heard, or even smelled. There she waited, pulling her hair back into a slick bun as she threw her fate into the air. She wasn’t there to kill Romanov like she had been ordered to, but to warn her.

What was she doing? What had come over the normally cold and heartless assassin? As Francesca stood silent in the dark room she contemplated her fate as it hung so desperately in the air. Why she had never kicked her heel and run away from the Mafia men was so strange, but so typical of her. She had never been out on her own. She had never had a chance to think for herself, but this was her opportunity. Something must have been in the blood of that newsboy she drank two days ago, or perhaps it was the hunger truly getting to her now. Whatever it was, it meant change for the wild vampire.

The words spoken by the two vampires meant nothing to Ms. Boticelli. Her mind was struggling to shut down and switch to assassin mode as it often did because, for once, she was fighting it. After a few seconds of deliberation she stepped out from the dark room silently, creeping through the beautiful hotel room like a killer with no intention to kill. She moved with the stealth of a jungle cat through the forest but soon stopped when she saw the woman who had helped her. It was the only compassion Francesca had been shown in … in… How long had it been? The last time she remembered compassion was with Benicio when he comforted her after their master lashed out.

“Run.” Her voice was smooth and low. Her eyes were wild but concentrated on the older vampire in the room. “Leave town, and don’t look back.” Every muscle in her body was tense as she waited for the attention to weigh on her. “You must flee, Elizabetia Romanov.” Not only did Elizabetia need to flee, but Francesca did as well. The men who followed her wouldn’t be distracted for long and they would know that something was up within the hour. There was very little time to explain, and Francesca wasn’t one for explanations so she looked to Elizabetia’s caretaker, or whatever he was. “Take your Master out of town, servant. She’s in danger here.”

Before the knock even came to the door Francesca was aware of the vampire in the hall. A loud, steady knock came at the door as Dante stood outside and spoke clearly. “Ms. Romanov?” The deep voice boomed through the door, and in the blink of an eye Francesca was gone.

Francesca didn’t bother answering any of the woman’s questions. She said what she said, then got the hell out of the room when someone else was near. It was the way of an assassin; either kill the intruders or slip out unseen. There was not a trace of her left behind, and hardly a scent lingered in the room.

The scent would hit Dante Benicio and sink down into his gut, but we’re getting ahead of ourselves. Dante Giovanni Benicio stood outside the door clad in a beautiful black suit as he waited patiently. His hands folded behind his back and his head bowed slightly until he heard the voices muffled from inside. That was the thing about his hotels, privacy came with the soundproofed walls but even vampires could hear the faint muffle of voices through them. Still, it helped conceal whatever was inside.

When Niles opened the door Dante nodded to him in greeting and strode passed him boldly. “Evening, Niles.” Immediately after he spoke he realized something was different. The expression on Niles’ face, not to mention the look on Eliza’s and the strange aroma that lingered. Someone else had been here. Someone familiar that made Dante’s cold dead heart shudder and ache in it’s grave. “What’s happened here, my dear Elizabetia?” The vampire asked coolly. His chin tilted upright slightly as he inhaled and began to patrol the room and look for any evidence of a mishap. “Who was here? Are you alright?” How did they even get in? Without missing a step he went to the phone and picked it up, ringing the security and spoke in a low tone. “Lock it down until further notice. Yes…. No.” A few short grunts followed that along then he hung up and looked to Elizabetia and looked her over. Was she hurt? “Tell me everything that happened… And…” He looked at her hair and crinkled his brow. “Why are you wet?”

Any infiltration, no matter how small it seemed to other’s, was a mistake on Dante’s end that he would not stand for. His security staff would pay for this and by morning someone’s head would roll. If the aroma in the room hadn’t had Dante’s head spinning he would have gone out after the woman himself to hang her by her scruff. Something was different though, but all so familiar…

“What did she look like?” He asked in a professional voice. “What did she say?” The scent was obviously female. Dante finally stood still and crossed his arms over his broad chest, watching Eliza with a scowl though it wasn’t intended for her. It was his concentration expression and it was a common look on his face. He glanced to Niles and shook his head at the offer for tea.

“That’s what you get for showing compassion, Eliza.” His crack at sarcasm though there was no smile to give away that he was kidding. Dante wasn’t a man who smiled often, at least he didn’t smile sincerely often. Eliza was one of the few who had seen that smile but it was a rare occurrence. “I want to move your room to keep you safe. I don’t like that some hood rat was able to break in here. I’ll have her head by morning.”

Little did he know.

It was a failure on the part of the security team that Dante prided himself in. Not only that, but it was an embarrassment. He had tried for so long to get Eliza state side and when he finally succeeded he had her in danger. The vampire would have hung his head in shame had he not been such a proud and dominant creature.

“Then allow me to provide extra security for your belongings. I’ll send the staff to bring another safe more equipped for your collection.” The things Eliza carried with her were nothing to Dante, he only cared that she was safe. She was right though. No one would bother her now that she was onto them. She was old enough to protect herself, but Dante couldn’t help but feel the need to do it for her.

The younger vampire was about to argue more whole heartedly that she needed to move but she caught his tongue when she slipped behind the white screen. He stood patiently, his hands going behind his back and he cleared his throat when her arm slipped out to grab her gown. It was obvious Elizabetia could have had the stern business owner jump through hoops if she truly wanted, but he kept himself professional. Besides, Dante would have had his own way to bend over backwards for her if needed.

When she turned her back to him he stood rigid. He stared down at her delicate skin and gently brushed away a stray strand of hair then hesitated slightly before zipping her nightgown up and exhaling slowly. He watched her back, then looked to her hair and touched it gently. “I just want you to be safe.” It was a rare moment when Dante was so gentle and caring, and that emotion would drop as soon as he was out the door and ready to bark orders to his staff. For now he enjoyed the softness he showed Eliza, and even offered her a small smile when she looked to him. “You’re sure you can’t describe her to me? Not even height or hair color?” He glanced to Niles looking for any indication of who he might try to catch and gave him a look to speak up.

Don’t fret, don’t worry. Normally Dante was the most even tempered man and kept his cool about his business and clients, but Eliza was more than just a client. She was a friend, and Mr. Benicio cherished the very few friends that he had. Plus it didn’t help his ego any that some wretched street walker had broken into the hotel, and into one of his finest suites. It ruffled his feathers and put him on edge, but he nodded at Eliza’s request to leave. “Promise me that you will call for any reason.” The professional man took Elizabetia’s hand and placed a soft kiss on her knuckles. “Any reason at all, Ms. Romanov.”

They would never expect her to go back after the Romanov, it would be stupid, suicidal; yet there she was. Hours had gone by and Francesca had been on the run until her feet ached and there were nearly holes in the soles of her shoes. Had she been a human she would had never caught her breath again. Her black hair was matted against her forehead and she felt like a dog from the pound, or a convict on the run for their life. Really how different was she from them?

She didn’t know why or what she was doing, but France soon was inside the hotel room that doomed her again. The lights were out and there wasn’t a sound, not even as she walked through the rooms. Her footsteps were silent along with every movement she made, and soon she found herself standing and staring at the woman she risked her life to save – but why? What was so special about her? Why had she decided to be kind to the fragile assassin and caused her to snap? She fucked her. She messed with her mentality and caused a shift in the normally robotic and well broken assassin.

“You didn’t run.”

It had never occurred to France to be a survivor. She was a rebel, a killer, and deep down a fragile creature, but never a survivor. She had never been on the run before but found she was quite good at it. The young vampire had shot through the swamp just outside of town to lose her scent in the mud and water, then through a stream. It didn’t occur to her how atrocious she looked or smelled. She was focusing on fleeing and her mind was so scattered from starvation and stress that it could hardly concentrate on that.

The deviant stood just out of arm’s reach from Elizabetia Romanov. She stared at her, her eyes hardening when the woman got out of bed. What was wrong with her? Was she slow or just stupid? When she motioned to follow France hesitated then carefully stepped after her, keeping her distance. Instead of taking a seat where she was offered she stood perfectly still, not breathing, not flinching, not even making a sound. The only sign that she was alive, besides the fact that she stood, was the fire in her eyes.

It seemed the longest time passed before the assassin decided to answer. At first she just stared at Elizabetia, looking her over as though passing judgment on the woman who showed her kindness.

“I have no sire.” Her voice was low and collected. “Can you not understand me? You’re in danger.” Finally the woman spoke up a bit more, straightening herself out as she did and watching the male vampire suspiciously from the corner of her eye like a snake ready to strike. “This is the last time I will warn you,” She couldn’t bring herself to say ‘help you’. “Why won’t you listen?”

Francesca didn’t know why the Mafia wanted Elizabetia dead, she didn’t get into the nitty gritty details. She only did what she was told – except for tonight of course. For the next few moments the assassin simply stared at her, running over the chaos in her mind as she tried to decipher her next move.

When the male brought in the tea she crinkled her nose and watched him like a coon up a tree watched the hounds that chased her. Why was he bringing tea? From the scent he seemed to be a vampire, so what was wrong with him that he brought them tea? Idiot.

“I prefer to stand.” The vampire continued watching the male vampire until he left the room then she looked back to Ms. Romanov. “Your husband is well trained. What is that?” The vampire knew it was tea but still sneered slightly at the scent. She had not enjoyed or eaten human things since being turned.

Just as it would seem she was letting up in the slightest there was commotion in the hallway by the police doing their rounds. They knocked on the door down the hall and called out who they were. Though the sound was muffled their confidence and loud pounding was a dead giveaway, and Francesca immediately backed up. She quickly retreated back into the bedroom from where she came and into the comfort of the unlit room. The vampire seemed to sink into the darkness and within seconds a knock came at Eliabetia’s door by a couple young New York police officers.

She had a butler. What was the difference between a butler and a slave? Francesca didn’t know of anyone that had a butler, but she was very familiar with enslavement. Perhaps she had been hanging around the wrong class of people. Mafia men didn’t have butlers. They had people who worked for them because they had no other choice. Did this Niles fellow have a choice?

The mention of blood made the young vampire’s honey eyes seem a shade darker and if it could her stomach would have growled. Still, she was too proud in her vampirism to drink tea, though she wondered just how much blood was in the drink. Was it enough to satisfy her? She inhaled slowly to try and smell it, but couldn’t clear her head enough to get a good whiff.

That was also the reason she didn’t hear the police officers sooner. Instead of kicking herself about not fleeing faster she stood perfectly still and silent in the room, listening to them mention a shooting. The thought made her stomach drop but also gave her hope that they were too preoccupied to come look for her tonight. Soon she peered out from the shadows well after the officers were gone and her wide eyes looked around the door frame before she would actually come out.

“France.” She was already boned, why not give up her name as well? It would give Elizabetia something to remember her by. “How much blood is in that tea?” The thought was eating her alive, but she shook her head and wouldn’t linger just because there was blood in the room. She shook her head and ran her hand over her face, showing some of her exhaustion and scrambled mindset in the way she tensed and shook while she rubbed her face. “I have to go.”

The dirty vampire shook her head. “No. My name is France. Just France.” She hated being called Francesca. It was so uptight and straight laced. It was the name for some sort of noble, beautiful old queen. Not herself. As a human her name had been something entirely different, but France couldn’t remember much from those days. Her maker had done a good job of wiping her memory clean.

Wild eyes became ever wilder when Elizabetia dumped the tea and cut her hand. Her mouth dropped to ask what she was doing, but she quickly shut it to avoid getting any of the scent in her senses. She didn’t want the blood. It would mean Elizabetia owned her, or was part of her and after killing her last Master France wanted nothing more to do with them. (Though she was basically bought and paid for by the New York mafia.)

“No.” She shook her head but was unable to take her eyes off of the blood. France wasn’t a newborn vampire, but she had never been trained how to keep herself for going more than a day or two without blood. She hadn’t been trained on anything to do with her vampirism, really. “They’re out there. They’ll come here looking for me, and take out you and the butler as well.” She was also so terribly filthy she couldn’t imagine sleeping in a bed. She needed to be put out with the hounds.

But before she could argue any more Francesca’s body moved for her and she stepped closer to the cup of blood, watching Elizabetia as she took the cup and began to drink.

Francesca. Blegh. The vampire wanted to make a face at the name but restrained herself. Why was she so trusting that France, the trained assassin sent to kill her, would not finish the job? Better yet – why was France so trusting of her?

Bathing sounded almost as appealing as the blood she drank. The words were almost muffled in her ear as France downed the blood, enjoying every last drop then licking her lips clean and setting the cup down once she was done. Blood gave her some manners and she didn’t slam the cup down like a Viking, and nodded gently at Eliza’s order.

After taking the red gown France went to the bathroom and settled in. She moved a chair in front of the door silently, then looked all around to make sure there was no one hiding inside. She ran a bath, and after stripping of her filthy clothes she sunk in and gave herself a moment to submerge and forget the world in a moment of heaven. The kindness this Elizabetia showed her was a strange concept, and she didn’t know what to make of it. Was she being nice just to hurt her later? The blood left France feeling a little more trusting of the older vampire, but her body still ached for more nourishment.

After a short bath France ran her hands through her dark hair to comb it. Her skin was no longer grey and murky, but honey glazed with a warm tone. The woman that stepped out of the bath was an entirely different creature than the one that stepped in. She came out from the bathroom quietly, her arms pressed against her chest as she went silently through the suite. Soon she came upon the butler from behind and watched his movements without speaking or making a sound. She simply watched him move and tidy things, examining him and his habits.

“Where can I put my clothes?"

It was strange for France to feel so out of place. For nearly three centuries she had known her place, she never fit in, but she knew her place. What did this older vampire want with her? As hard as she tried to mull over the logic of Elizabetia Francesca just couldn’t follow, and it wasn’t like her to go with the flow.

She stepped into the room once motioned and more blood was offered to her. France was a dog obeying orders simply for it’s next meal at the moment, or so she told herself. She couldn’t admit that she enjoyed Eliza’s presence. The cold vampire drank the blood slowly this time, savoring the taste as she drank and watched the butler as if he were a guard dog to be cautious around. Without too much wasted time she finished her glass and hesitated only a little before climbing into the smaller bed. She felt around, not used to the softness of a nicer bed, then curled up like a cat under the blanket and exhaled a tense breath she had been holding for days. “Thank you.”