An Update.
It's been pointed out to me that six months is a fairly long absence and that I have returned only with a collection of random thoughts and moods.
I have been living in the region of France known as Auvergne-Rhône-Alpes, near a village called Charroux. It’s got exactly that sort of winding honey-stone vibe that I’ve always hated, dotted as it is by decorative wells and carved stone lintels, with hidden courtyards, the clanging church bell and the cold sweep of the mountains behind. This is not because it’s not exquisitely beautiful but because it is timeless. I was born in this land. Its memories speak of oppression, but I can't always make the past my enemy. I will face it. I will change it. I’m not entirely alone here, but we’ll come to that.
Louis and I do not live together. He inhabits the mountain-side castle that he once bought me. You know the one; we’ve wintered there several times and shared our love of swordplay in its great hall. It's quite small and rather lovely and I gave it to Nicki in the vain hope that he would leave me the hell alone. It’s not my father's old house, not that castle which, contrary to what you may have read, isn't fully restored and as large as the moon. I did buy my father's house back years ago and have undertaken a bit of work on it, but it remains more or less a ruin. I'm not unhappy with that. One tower is still standing and I've made that secure, added a roof and rebuilt the parts that were crumbling down the precipice into the valley. I’ve used the old cellars of this ruin to imprison first Nicki, then Louis. Remember all that? Louis had burned down the house in London in a fit of pique and what else do you do with a rabid arsonist? Nicki had blown the cellars to hell in a bid to release him, so I had to fix that too. Who knows when you might need a dungeon again.
Speaking of dungeons, Nicolas de Lenfent is under a sort of house arrest with Louis as his jailor. I can no longer stand to look at him. He'd killed the mortal pet of a fierce vampire called Vincent and Vincent had demanded that Nicki pay with his life. I met with Vincent and promised to take on the debt to him myself if he would only let Nicki go. Yeah, nothing bad could ever come from that promise. Well, Vincent agreed to my service and he released Nicki. Past all patience, I ignored him. Enraged at this slight, Nicki hunted down and killed one of my own mortal agents. At that, I gave Nicki over to Louis as a prisoner and haven't seen him since. I really don't know what I would do to him if I did. Make the past your enemy and you are a prisoner.
Avoiding Nicki, I haven't seen Louis either, not in six months, except for a brief visit last week on the occasion of his birthday - just an excuse, of course - and only while Nicki was locked up out of sight. I do feel that old familiar ache for Louis. Nicolas is tolerating his incarceration reasonably well, but I did promise that I would turn him over to Armand's loving hands if he didn’t. That seems to have done the trick. But how do you really solve a problem like Nicolas de Lenfent?
Armand is in Rome with his gentle giant, Owen, that extraordinary mortal of his. Owen has the questionable gift of psychometry: he can see visons emanating from the things and people he touches. He always wears gloves, day and night, and a thick covering of clothing from head to toe, unless he’s with Armand whose formidable powers can supress visions. If this wasn’t enough, Owen is also insensitive to pain - not a useless gift if you’re shacked up with Armand - but it only works on the outside. Owen is yet another from that august order of psychic detectives known as the Talamasca and a living cautionary tale. A stray click of the mouse and you’re down the rabbit hole.
I've been dreaming about Armand.
The Talamasca itself is experiencing a schism. A group of rebels has formed whose beliefs are radically different from those of Sylvia Graves, the current Superior General. No-one really knows how many there are because some meet in secret and others hide their allegiance. This new movement demands that the Talamasca reform, that it no longer watches passively as it has done for centuries, but uses its vast resources against us. They despise us. They believe that they can save humanity from the scourge of our evil. In fact, it’s rumored that the extremist core is working on plans to start a war. That could be lovely.
I know all this through Ian and Lexia, my own Talamascan friends. Lexia lives with her daughter, Mirella, in the lovely country house that Louis bought her. Louis, who never ever falls in love with mortals, no siree, is in love with her, but she’s no Babette. Lexia is practical and aware. Mirella is Lexia’s daughter by Gitano, my lover whom I mourn as if he were dead and gone. Gitano’s mortal life was blighted by the Talamasca and stolen by Nicki. Nicki made him immortal then abandoned him. I feel a distinct connection to Mirella and Lexia, just as if my own dark blood flowed in Mirella’s veins. In a sense it does: Gitano was pumped so full of my blood that I almost sent him mad. It’s anyone’s guess what has passed from him to her. Ian still holds a position of authority at the Talamasca in spite of his many addictions. He no longer takes a cocktail of chemicals to release him from the agony of his psychic gifts, but he does still drink and hard. Alcohol dulls the leading edge of his pain, but only my own blood can offer pure release. I do offer it to him now and then.
They’ve both been banned from any contact with me, but I simply don’t take orders from academics. All of the Talamasca have been ordered to stay away from us since I killed two of their number. Of course, it wasn’t really me who did the deed. I’d been inhabited by an angry spirit bent on revenge. Ian and a small band of arcane experts helped me be rid of it, but at a terrible cost. The Talamasca knows that I wasn’t behind the attacks, but I’m the perfect fiend to blame. Lexia tells me that I may even be in danger.
One more incident on the delicate vampire-scholar frontline might trigger catastrophe.
I have been living in the region of France known as Auvergne-Rhône-Alpes, near a village called Charroux. It’s got exactly that sort of winding honey-stone vibe that I’ve always hated, dotted as it is by decorative wells and carved stone lintels, with hidden courtyards, the clanging church bell and the cold sweep of the mountains behind. This is not because it’s not exquisitely beautiful but because it is timeless. I was born in this land. Its memories speak of oppression, but I can't always make the past my enemy. I will face it. I will change it. I’m not entirely alone here, but we’ll come to that.
Louis and I do not live together. He inhabits the mountain-side castle that he once bought me. You know the one; we’ve wintered there several times and shared our love of swordplay in its great hall. It's quite small and rather lovely and I gave it to Nicki in the vain hope that he would leave me the hell alone. It’s not my father's old house, not that castle which, contrary to what you may have read, isn't fully restored and as large as the moon. I did buy my father's house back years ago and have undertaken a bit of work on it, but it remains more or less a ruin. I'm not unhappy with that. One tower is still standing and I've made that secure, added a roof and rebuilt the parts that were crumbling down the precipice into the valley. I’ve used the old cellars of this ruin to imprison first Nicki, then Louis. Remember all that? Louis had burned down the house in London in a fit of pique and what else do you do with a rabid arsonist? Nicki had blown the cellars to hell in a bid to release him, so I had to fix that too. Who knows when you might need a dungeon again.
Speaking of dungeons, Nicolas de Lenfent is under a sort of house arrest with Louis as his jailor. I can no longer stand to look at him. He'd killed the mortal pet of a fierce vampire called Vincent and Vincent had demanded that Nicki pay with his life. I met with Vincent and promised to take on the debt to him myself if he would only let Nicki go. Yeah, nothing bad could ever come from that promise. Well, Vincent agreed to my service and he released Nicki. Past all patience, I ignored him. Enraged at this slight, Nicki hunted down and killed one of my own mortal agents. At that, I gave Nicki over to Louis as a prisoner and haven't seen him since. I really don't know what I would do to him if I did. Make the past your enemy and you are a prisoner.
Avoiding Nicki, I haven't seen Louis either, not in six months, except for a brief visit last week on the occasion of his birthday - just an excuse, of course - and only while Nicki was locked up out of sight. I do feel that old familiar ache for Louis. Nicolas is tolerating his incarceration reasonably well, but I did promise that I would turn him over to Armand's loving hands if he didn’t. That seems to have done the trick. But how do you really solve a problem like Nicolas de Lenfent?
Armand is in Rome with his gentle giant, Owen, that extraordinary mortal of his. Owen has the questionable gift of psychometry: he can see visons emanating from the things and people he touches. He always wears gloves, day and night, and a thick covering of clothing from head to toe, unless he’s with Armand whose formidable powers can supress visions. If this wasn’t enough, Owen is also insensitive to pain - not a useless gift if you’re shacked up with Armand - but it only works on the outside. Owen is yet another from that august order of psychic detectives known as the Talamasca and a living cautionary tale. A stray click of the mouse and you’re down the rabbit hole.
I've been dreaming about Armand.
The Talamasca itself is experiencing a schism. A group of rebels has formed whose beliefs are radically different from those of Sylvia Graves, the current Superior General. No-one really knows how many there are because some meet in secret and others hide their allegiance. This new movement demands that the Talamasca reform, that it no longer watches passively as it has done for centuries, but uses its vast resources against us. They despise us. They believe that they can save humanity from the scourge of our evil. In fact, it’s rumored that the extremist core is working on plans to start a war. That could be lovely.
I know all this through Ian and Lexia, my own Talamascan friends. Lexia lives with her daughter, Mirella, in the lovely country house that Louis bought her. Louis, who never ever falls in love with mortals, no siree, is in love with her, but she’s no Babette. Lexia is practical and aware. Mirella is Lexia’s daughter by Gitano, my lover whom I mourn as if he were dead and gone. Gitano’s mortal life was blighted by the Talamasca and stolen by Nicki. Nicki made him immortal then abandoned him. I feel a distinct connection to Mirella and Lexia, just as if my own dark blood flowed in Mirella’s veins. In a sense it does: Gitano was pumped so full of my blood that I almost sent him mad. It’s anyone’s guess what has passed from him to her. Ian still holds a position of authority at the Talamasca in spite of his many addictions. He no longer takes a cocktail of chemicals to release him from the agony of his psychic gifts, but he does still drink and hard. Alcohol dulls the leading edge of his pain, but only my own blood can offer pure release. I do offer it to him now and then.
They’ve both been banned from any contact with me, but I simply don’t take orders from academics. All of the Talamasca have been ordered to stay away from us since I killed two of their number. Of course, it wasn’t really me who did the deed. I’d been inhabited by an angry spirit bent on revenge. Ian and a small band of arcane experts helped me be rid of it, but at a terrible cost. The Talamasca knows that I wasn’t behind the attacks, but I’m the perfect fiend to blame. Lexia tells me that I may even be in danger.
One more incident on the delicate vampire-scholar frontline might trigger catastrophe.