The candles burned brightly over the heavily laden table. The small rooms that they took as their own were filled with the smoke of incense and warm still from day's long embrace. Tonight was a special night, a time of remembrance and of purpose. Every year, on this night, the same ritual occurred. They had been together as family for so long now. Father and daughter, mentor and student... the list of relationships they had shared over the years was long but always intimate. Tonight was the 40th anniversary of their meeting. The night that would be their last together in their quiet little home.
Jacques was dressed finely in his suit and tie... the collar fastened tight around his throat. On this night especially, he liked the appearance of true nobility to be upheld. He had painstakingly pressed and folded his handkerchief, tied the tie in a perfect knot. His shirt was crisp and black, without even the hint of the age that it displayed. He wished he'd thought to save and preserve the shirt he'd worn that first night, but it had been lost years ago.
Cecile was dressed as well in her fine clothes. Tonight, she had chosen a white ankle length dress, simple but regal looking on her forms. Her hair was tied back in a complicated knot, done by a local hairdresser who happened to be a devotee of theirs. It had taken three hours to get the hair just right... trying both the stylists skill and Cecile's own patience in the process. But she would let nothing stand in the way of impressing her Papa on this most special of nights.
As was their tradition, a local devotee was there with them as well. The lady was dressed in less finery than either of them. They had explained to her that tonight would be a special ritual. Tonight they worshipped their ancestors, who lay beyond the crossroads of life and death. Jacques had explained to her that she was to help prepare the meal and then join them in the celebration.
Such explanation was hardly necessary however. The faint scar on their companion's neck held testament to the fact that she had been involved in this dance before. In fact their 'servant' Marie Louise had played this same role in the last three years of their celebration. She alone among their Circle of devotees understood what both Jacques and Cecile were. She knew that she could trust them both with her life, as she did every year at this time. It was a sacrament and testament to her loyalty that they allowed her this close.
The meal progressed in regal fashion. Glasses and plates filled with food were placed in front of each participant. Both Jacques and Cecile sat looking at their companion, watching her savor the flavors of the dishes. All the food was chosen for both its taste and its sensual qualities. Fresh fruits and breads from the local bakery. Scallops cooked in a light wine sauce. Fresh salad filled with the green growing things of the bayous around their small haven. All these foods and more were indulged in by Marie, who knew that the enjoyment of the meal itself was just as important as the companionship they shared.
When the meal was nearing its end, a bottle of wine was taken from its place of storage. This wine was hard to find, getting harder every year. It was a 1969 Beaune Clos des Mouches by Joseph Drouhin, a fine red wine that had held some acclaim in the mid 1970s. Jacques had chosen it for this ritual because of its French origins and the fact that their first 'companion' together had preferred the taste to the others available. Marie savored the flavor of this most sapid drink, feeling the warmth of the alcohol make her cheeks flush. While she finished her second glass, the three talked of the coming day and the journey they would undertake. Marie knew it would likely be the last time she would celebrate this night with them and wanted to make it as special as possible.
Jacques rose from his chair and stepped to the side of Marie in one smooth motion. He assisted her in standing and then led her into the bedroom that served as Cecile's place of rest. More candles burned here as well, and the bed was sprinkled with Florida water and saffron. On the bedside table sat a blade, long and sharp, worn clean and shiny from years of use. He placed Marie on the bed and knelt before her like a timid young man about to propose marriage. Taking her hand, he pulled up the sleeve of her simple dress to expose the flesh of her arm.
Two small scars ran some distance down her forearm near her wrist. Each was well healed, having received good treatment and loving care after the fact. Jacques reached for the blade on the bedside table and began to gently run the point up and down her arm. The skin stood at attention where it passed. Marie was so used to this by now that she only really felt anticipation and not fear. The first cut was over before she even realized it, pain filling her body with a longing for Jacques' loving Kiss. They both heard Cecile gasp slightly behind them as the mystically charged blade gave her some of Marie's life blood in the process of opening her like a ripe fruit. It helped to quench the thirst of Jacques beautiful daughter and helped control the hunger that they both felt at that moment.
Jacques lips and tongue traced lines around the bleeding temple that was his servant's wrist. The sacrament had almost leaked out onto the bed clothes when his tongue finally caught the first drops. His lips enveloped her fine dark skin, the fangs in his mouth barely piercing the flesh around the sacrificial wound. He had enough contact so that she felt the pleasure of his Kiss, but not enough that she would be mortally wounded by his teeth. As he drank slowly, the scents of the room changed dramatically as Marie's own perfume was added to the mix of incense and potions spread before them. Her arousal was not only evident in the scent of her body but also in the sounds from her throat. Moans escaped her as she began to quiver under Jacques touch.
