"B-but I don't want ... I mean, I can't be here ... alone." I whined looking up at her with pleading eyes. "Can't I go with Alessandro, please? I begged.
"No ..." came my answer from near the entrance of the room.
"I will not stay here..." I said with heat as I turned to face Alessandro.
"You will stay Nicollete." He countered, closing the gap between the two of us. "You will behave yourself, and you will stay until I return." He admonished voice set with inarguable finality. "I thought you had gone already ..." I breathed, as I chocked back ire and resentment. Had he not taken me, I would not be in such a precarious situation as being held a comfortable prisoner in a house full of blood thirsty vampires. Had Alessandro let me be in my small apartment, had he allowed me to continue to live my increasingly bland life,
I ... I ... oh who was I kidding The second I woke to find myself in Alessandro Rossi's bed the quagmire of my situation alone yielded to my intellectual side, my curiosity enough to want to stay the course with this dangerous family. And beyond my curiosity I had to admit to myself that there was a small part, albeit resistant and precarious, that had come to at least care for Alessandro.
"I forgot something." He whispered sweeping me into his arms, and before I could complain or resist he kissed me deeply, and true. "Do not fight Nicolette..." He said pressing his forehead to mine. "You are safe here. I will return, and when I do, all will be well. Please have no fear ... this is your family ... you will never be alone." he admonished before stealing one last peck from my cheek, nodding his goodbye to his parents, and leaving the room.
Needing to hunt, Paola and Marco followed their son out and with everyone gone from the room, my fate for the near future decided unanimously, there was only one thing left for me to do, weep profusely. Confused and bereft of all I had once known, forced to try and accept what had just a couple of weeks ago been mere fiction as reality I crumpled to the floor in a shoulder shaking, runny nose, wet faced heap.
"I am such a mess!!" I complained to myself between sniffs. "I hate him, I hate them all..." I squeaked punctuating my falsity with a hiccup.
"Does that include me as well?" came a familiar alto voice from the front of the room. Genève ambled in bearing two clinking glasses in one hand and an awkwardly shaped bottle in the other. Her forlorn aquamarine eyes rimmed in red peered into mine. The red tint seemed to make her irises as blue-green as Grace Bay Beach. Until right then I had not considered that she was hurting too, after all it was her two time savior and lover locked in the basement cell.
"Fancy a drink?" She asked casually sitting down in front of me. When I did not respond she set a glass in front of my crossed legs and one in front of her own. It was then that I noticed the bottle was shaped just like a teddy bear wearing a bow tie. I watched as she unceremoniously cracked the seal on the bottle and filled her glass just about to the rim. Once done pouring she capped the bottle, set it to the side, and peered into her glass as if it were a crystal ball that was about to transmit some mystic revelation to her about her future.
"I'tzz pretty good ..." she slurred with an approving nod after taking a sip from the full tumbler. It was clear that Genève had been drinking quite a lot already.
"What is that I murmured" gesturing towards the bottle.
"Vodka ..." she replied taking another sip, this one much bigger than the last. When she did not elaborate I scooted my glass forward. She nodded again with a crooked smile as she filled my glass, again almost to the very brim.
"Thanks ..." I muttered almost so quietly that I did not even register my gratitude.
"Santé" she called raising her glass as I lifted my own to my lips. "Belver Bears..." She announced.
"I'm sorry, what?" I replied as the smooth liquor cascaded down my esophagus landing pleasantly warm in my stomach.
"The drink, it is called Belver Bears." She muttered before taking another mouthful. "I remember when Luca bought it as if it were yesterday, mostly because of its price tag, but that s-stupid man ..." On the thought of Luca Genève had to choke back tears before she could continue.
"He j-just had to have it ..." she sniffed. "Stupid, stupid man!" She said again. Only this time her tears would not be checked. Two diamonds streaked down her cheeks as she took a long sip of her drink. I watched her drink now in silence and wondered if it was the price tag of the vodka that made her conclude the man she loved was so stupid, or if it was the killing of his own sister. Determining that it was the latter, all I could do was nod my agreement.
"He will be alright ..." I said in a weak attempt at consolation. But inadvertently my statement passed my lips as a trepidatious question. I instantly regretted even mentioning Luca's impending well-being as I watched her hand begin to tremble as she raised the glass to her lips again.
"I do not know what Marco plans to do with Luca" She said, her voice tight. "He has to release him though?" I asked. "I mean Luca is his son, he wouldn't castigate his own child would he?"
"Nicolette, Luca killed his sister, Marco's only daughter, with his bare hands!" She half groaned through clenched teeth. "And as if that were not bad enough, by killing Donata he has ruined the opportunity for an alliance with the most powerful family in the entire world." Speaking with her hands, some of the contents of her glass sloshed over the rim and onto the pristine carpet.
"On her last breath, Luca's life was forfeit. Even if Marco forgives his son, Azazel will not."
The reality of the situation finally began to sink in. Blood is thicker than water, but things sort of begin to go sideways when fury filled murderous blood mixes with blood. Luca was in a perilous situation. He was in the proverbial rock and a hard place with no escape. But if somehow the events of the evening could repeat themselves I had no doubt Luca would take Donata's life every single time in defense of his Genève. In melancholy, we both sat in silent contemplation as we drained our glasses. "Genève ..." I began after a while.
"Please, call me Genie ..." she insisted.
"Alright, Genie, do you, and I am sorry if I am out of line, but do you ever, well, I mean, do you ever miss being human?" I asked feeling ignorant as my question, when spoken aloud sounded less logical than it had in my head, sophomoric even. But knowing that the end of my road would ultimately lead to the change, I had to know. To my surprise Genève did not flinch, nor did she laugh or mock my ignorance. Instead, Genève Renau told me a story. - "Since before I can remember I always knew that it had been a curse to have been born in such unforgiving times as the twelfth century." She began before topping her drink off. I noticed that after a few drinks in her, Genie's almost non-existent French accent became more and more evident. It surprised me how dumbfounded I was at the thought of her still having a French accent after nine centuries of life over the fact that she is over nine centuries old.
"I was born in Languedoc, France in 1208 to a master mason, and his wife who longed desperately for a title." She reflected. As I looked at her she seemed so far away. It was as if, though physically she sat there with me in Marco's office, she was miles, and centuries away back in Languedoc.
"My name was not Genève then ..." She said pausing for a minute as she took a drink. I wondered in the time it took her to speak again if she had forgotten her given name after such a long time.
"My mother told me that as soon as I opened my eyes for the first time in my father's arms he said, 'Bienvenue à la lumière de ma petite Clarin ...' and so I was called Clarin Trencavel.
It was not the best time for me to be born however. My father being a mason was not making much money as there were not many patrons offering work during the Cather Crusade which had been transpiring since 1209." Genève continued to reminisce as my mind drifted to the south of medieval France while she spoke.
As she talked about her family being hungry at times, but ultimately happy, in my mind's eye I saw her playing with her older brothers who allowed her to play at swords with them while they were supposed to have been practicing. She fished with her father who adored her and thought she could do no wrong.
As an adolescent I saw her in a kitchen with her mother preparing dough for baking as she listened to her mother hum happily while she worked. Those were the good times, the early times. But soon enough the crusade came to back to Languedoc in 1215; and as Cathar supporters, the Trencavel family, well known Cathar supporters, was in danger. As if that were not enough, by then Genève's mother was pregnant again and her father wanted the family out of the city.
"They will take our boys ... you cannot stay ..." her father had said when he tried to send his wife and family further North to safety. "Jean and René are of age to fight Vivienne, but my darling ... they are not fighters!" He implored as his wife vehemently shook her head refusing to leave her husband, alone in the doomed city.
So because his wife would not leave him, Bertran Trencavel and his family packed up their belongings and made the long journey to just outside of Paris. The road to safety was treacherous at best. And to their terror, Jean and René ended up helping their father battle through skirmishes with not only small teams of inquisition deserters, but petty thieves and bullies as well.
It was during one of these fights that Jean Claude, Genève's eldest brother was run through while attempting to protect his mother from a drunken brigand making untoward advances. The family had at least two more days on the road. And Jean's injury, though not normally fatal, it was severe enough that his father was uncertain that he would live long enough to get the help he needed.
"Will my brother live Papa?" sixteen year old Genève had asked with eyes brimming over with tears. But her father could not answer right away, so he dabbed at his son's feverish brow gently as he muttered a simple prayer.
"My son ..." He said finally, still not heeding his daughter's question. "My sweet Jean Claude ... will you endure the rite?" his father asked, speeding through the question. "I-I fear you'll not live to see our new home ... will you undergo the Consolamentum this night?"
"No!" rang her mother's voice from nearby. "No! I will not hear it! My son will not die!" she screamed holding her belly protectively as if the unborn child was in danger as well. She ambled over to father and son and struggled to the ground with them pushing her husband out of the way. "You will fight Jean Claude!" she spat furiously as she tried to cradle him in her arms. And as she did he tried to speak, but could only force out a weak cough, and a small smile for her.
"Madam, please forgive me ... but I fear you are wrong." We heard him before we saw him step out from the shadows. "Immediately René and my father got on their guard ... even I stood to defend my family grabbing up Jean's heavy blade." Genie said, hesitating on her brother's name. "Oh he was such a sweet boy ... I think I idolized him for a while actually." She said with a sigh.
