Chapter 11
They stayed on after the Conclave, the Primogens and their advisers. Lillie had left, excusing
herself with urgent business, but they all knew that she couldn’t stand Julian’s lifeless face, his
empty eyes. Only a month ago she had begged him to let her back into his life, to let her comfort
him. He had looked at her without seeing her.
"Lillie, you don’t want to live with a corpse, do you?" he had answered her.
Lillie had cried like she had never cried before. It was also the first time ever that she had shed
tears for anyone other than herself.
Frank Kohanek had brought a new kind of whiskey and they shared it, although he was the
only one who could appreciate it fully. Frank was the only mortal to sit at a Conclave table. Biggy
had recommended it, and to Daedalus’ dismay both the Prince and Lillie had seconded the notion.
Within a few months the Nosferatu came to accept Frank’s presence and listened to his opinions.
After all, they lived in a human world. Daedalus’ initial envy towards Biggy had soon turned into
admiration. The Prince’s new adviser was wise. Besides, he seemed to be the only one who could
make Julian say more than monosyllable words or even bring a shadow of a smile to his face. That
alone made Biggy precious. But most of the time, the Prince seemed to live in a void. When he
didn’t work or feed, he would sleep. He refused to go out for any other reason. In the beginning
Daedalus had believed that it was a good sign, hoping that Julian would simply sleep away his
depression, but now he wasn’t so sure. However, Julian had started to spend a little more time with
others. Not that he took an active part in the conversation, but he had stopped hiding away from all
company. Sometimes, he would stay in the library, trying to read or listen to music, but could
seldom concentrate long enough to benefit from it.
Almost every week, James Byrne would find fresh white roses on his daughter’s grave. At
first he had thought that Julian had paid to have them delivered, but was told that the young man
came with them himself. He had been seen standing by her grave at odd hours, usually late in the
evening or before dawn. The old astronomer had trouble believing it until he ran into Julian one
evening. He was staring at the tombstone, a bunch of white roses scattered at his feet. Within the
last two years, James Byrne had lost his wife and his only daughter, but when he saw Julian’s
deadly white face, he couldn’t help crying. He was more sorry for the young man than he was for
himself.
Caitlin had been dead for twenty months.
Frank was surprised to see Julian Luna in the Haven. He was sitting in one of the booths,
discussing something with several men. Frank recognized some of them; they were well known
businessmen. Whether they were Kindred or not, he was not able to tell.
So, you’ve crept out of your seclusion, he thought. Just keep your hands off Lillie! Frank’s
old jealousy came forth so unexpectedly that it surprised himself and made him feel ashamed.
Nevertheless, he kept watching the Prince. Julian looked as he always had: handsome, pale and somber.
He wore a dark suit and his black hair was brushed back. As usual, he tried to give a
semblance of maturity and, as usual, he wasn’t entirely successful. Lillie was not around.
After a quarter of an hour Julian lost interest in the conversation and started looking around.
Noticing Frank, he smiled and nodded. At the same time an elderly man came to him and asked
something. Julian Luna rose and went out with that man. Frank followed them without thinking. He
watched them talk for a couple of minutes and then the older man said good-bye and stopped a cab
that was passing by. Julian opened the rear door for him and closed it after the man had climbed
inside. He looked after the disappearing car for a moment and then started to walk down the street.
Frank kept twenty paces behind him, wondering why he was stalking the Prince. But only after a
hundred yards Julian stopped. He didn’t turn around, and Frank came quickly closer, unsure of
what to do. When the policeman was only a few steps behind him Julian looked over his shoulder.
"What is it, Frank?" he asked, a hint of irritation in his voice.
"I thought we could talk," Frank shrugged and Julian sighed.
"I’ve sneaked away from my guards," he said. "I’m being watched all the time and it’s
beginning to get on my nerves."
"I’m not your bodyguard," Frank retorted laughing.
"True." Julian looked away for a second then returned his gaze to the policeman. "Let’s take a
stroll."
They crossed the street and walked into a park. They moved slowly along the dimly lit paths in
silence. At last Julian Luna stopped and faced Frank Kohanek.
"What’s on your mind?" he asked outright.
"Nothing’s on my mind," Frank answered. "I’ve known you for quite some time but we’ve
never talked."
Julian Luna frowned.
"We talk at the meetings," he said, and Frank shook his head.
"I meant real talk. The unimportant stuff that is really important. I’d like to know what you
think about... things. Things you like or dislike..."
"Why?"
Frank had been prepared to be chased off and was totally surprised by the simple question.
"I... uh, I’m trying to get to know you..." He shrugged again helplessly, well aware of how
weird he sounded, expecting the Kindred to laugh at him or become annoyed. But Julian continued
to look at him, his face quite serious.
"Why?" he asked again.
I’m making a fool of myself, Frank thought.
"I thought we’re friends," he blurted out and watched Julian smile.
"No," the Prince said, then cocked his head to one side and looked up at Frank. "And we can’t
be," he added.
The policeman exhaled sharply. Suddenly he felt very vulnerable and exposed.
"You know," he said softly, "this is more difficult than telling a woman that you love her."
Julian’s smile became wider.
"You’re quite right. Friendship is so much more... complicated." He looked away before
saying, "let’s move on."
They walked in silence for several minutes. Julian was obviously pondering over something
and the policeman didn’t want to disturb him. The Kindred stopped abruptly, and Frank who had
moved on was forced to turn around in order to face him. They were standing under a lamp and
Frank could see Julian’s face clearly.
"Frank," the Kindred was talking softly, "you said once that everything I love dies. You were
quite right. All my family; my father, my wife, my sister in law, Archon, my friends, the women I’ve
loved – all dead." He laughed suddenly. "Even my enemies. You’re offering me something that I
want but it might prove deadly to you."
"So… you don’t dislike me? You’re turning me away because I might get hurt?" Frank
inquired.
"Yes, I don’t want you to get hurt."
"You’ve been around for quite some time," Frank responded, "you’re bound to outlive us."
"None of them died of old age," Julian retorted. "And neither will I. You should stay away
from me, Frank. If you know what’s good for you, you should stay away."
"Are you telling me to get lost?" the policeman inquired.
"No," Julian was shaking his head. "I’m just too selfish to do that."
"Ah…" The realization dawned slowly on Frank. "You’re too selfish to turn away my offer of
friendship – you want it?"
"Frank." Julian hesitated for a moment but his gaze didn’t waver from the policeman’s face.
"I’m glad you made the first move. I’d never have dared to do that."
"Why?" The question made Julian flinch.
"I don’t make friends easily." He was talking in a low voice, and Frank had to come closer in
order to hear him. "Usually, men dislike me. Or use me and betray me like Archon did. And
Stephen..." His face contorted in pain and he shook his head as if he were trying to shake off an
unpleasant memory. "When they love or admire me... like Daedalus or Arthur. I don’t want
worship and I don’t want sexual desire..."
"You don’t have to worry about that," Frank interrupted him. "I’m not the worshipping type,
and I sure as hell don’t want to have sex with you. But I do want to know what’s going on in your
head."
Julian laughed.
"Yes," he said. "I think we can be friends. And you have been warned."
"Your guards must be quite frantic by now," Frank commented as they walked on.
"Let them sweat!" Julian made a dismissive gesture. "I’m dead tired of them. I’m not the
goddamn pope!" The invective was so out of place that it made Frank laugh, and after a moment
Julian realized what he had said and started laughing as well.
"If I had thought that there were any danger I wouldn’t have let you come along," Julian said.
"But Daedalus will have a fit if I don’t return soon. Sometimes I do things just to spite the poor
Nosferatu. He will treat me as if I were a naughty child, and it drives him crazy when I pretend not
to notice. He would spank me if he could, he has been on the verge more than once."
"Can’t he?" Frank asked. It made Julian laugh again.
"Of course he can! He’s much stronger than I am. But he won’t. After all, I am the Prince."
He was quiet for a moment, lost in his memories. "Daedalus would never hurt me," he said at
last. "He has always protected me. Archon tried to hit me once, ages ago. I did something that made
him furious. Daedalus stopped him. And Stephen... he always picked fights with me, just for fun,
saying that I needed to learn to protect myself. I didn’t know then... what I know now. Daedalus
would hover over us like a mother hen over her chicks, making sure that Stephen didn’t get what he
really wanted. Eventually, he did, when Daedalus wasn’t around to protect me..."
"What did he want? And who is he, this... Stephen?" Frank broke in, stopping Julian’s tirade.
Julian didn’t answer at once. He looked at Frank, an expression of revulsion on his face.
"Stephen was my blood brother, and he wanted to... hurt me."
The shock made Frank gulp.
"Was?" he said at last.
"He’s dead," Julian responded. "I think Daedalus killed him, although he said it was someone
else…"
Napa Valley - 1856
Archon Raine watched his newly acquired help closely. Several weeks had passed since Julian
had joined Archon’s human ‘work force’, and it was surprising that he was still alive. The boy
wasn’t any better with a gun than any other of Archon’s men. He could hardly use a knife and was
no good at all in fistfights although his was quite strong and agile. In spite of his lack of experience
he would join any fight that came his way with enthusiasm and apparently did his best to get
himself killed. He didn’t drink and he didn’t chase women, and the others would chide him for that,
provoking him into attacking them. They would beat him up then, but never seriously, knowing that
Archon would throw them out if they did. After a few weeks Archon told them that Julian’s wife
had died recently, and that made them leave him alone. There were so few women around that
everybody regarded a dead one as a tragedy. But Julian would pick fights with anybody that would
oblige outside Archon’s compound. His determination and fearlessness would make up for the lack
of skill, and he would come out of those fights victorious more often than not. Fate seemed to hold
a protective hand over Julian Luna; he was never shot or stabbed, nothing was ever broken, at worst
he would come home with a black eye or a split lip.
Only Archon didn’t believe in fate.
The boy will get himself killed anyway, Archon concluded. A well-aimed bullet, a throw of a
knife, and that will be his end. A pity. I must stop thinking of him as a boy.
Archon didn’t want Julian Luna dead. At first he couldn’t have cared less, but within a few
weeks he had found out things about Julian that made keeping him alive interesting. For starters, he
was older than Archon had first thought. In spite of his teenage appearance Julian was twenty-six
years old - an adult - and possibly receptive to reason, once his grief subsided. Also, compared to
others, he had been quite well educated. He could read and write in both English and French, and
was quite good with figures. He could become useful if he lived long enough.
What had happened to Julian Luna was of course a tragedy, and Archon knew why the young
man was depressed enough to want to die. His wife had died in childbirth, a common event in these
parts; there was no physician for miles around. But only Archon knew why Evelyn had been left
unattended on that fateful night. The evil tongues had waggled afterwards: Julian Luna had killed
his wife in order to be with his sister in law who lived with them. With so few women around, the
envious couldn’t stomach the fact that two beautiful women lived in Julian’s house. The talk
subsided soon enough, when it became apparent how devastated Julian was by the death of his wife,
and when Eve disappeared from Julian’s house the day after her sister’s death.
Archon had taken care of Eve when Julian had turned her out, and learned the truth from her.
Julian Luna was responsible for his wife’s death. Instead of taking care of her, he had been in the
barn with his sister in law. At first, Archon had trouble believing the young girl; Eve was apparently
out of her mind, raving and crying, even trying to harm herself. Archon placed her in an asylum for
the insane and went to see Julian Luna. The young widower seemed to be in no better state than his
mad sister in law. He spent most of his time cleaning the house and himself. He would scrub the
floor, the walls, wash everything and bathe, and then start scrubbing everything all over again.
"Mad indeed," the neighbors had commented.
But he didn’t sound mad at all when Archon talked to him. Devastated by grief and guilt, but
quite sane. When questioned, Julian told Archon what had happened. He had committed adultery
with his own sister in law. His wife had been ill and they had not made love for months. The illicit
affair had been going on for two weeks when the tragedy occurred. Eve had told Archon the truth.
They had been in the barn, making love, when Evelyn’s labor had started. When Julian had found
her, almost at dawn, she had lost so much blood that her life could not be saved. She gave birth to a
boy and died soon afterwards.
"Where’s the baby?" Archon asked and was told that Julian’s brother had taken in the little
boy. It was just as well. Julian was apparently in no shape to take care of a child.
"Why all this cleaning?" Archon continued his interrogation, and Julian shrugged.
"It keeps me occupied," was his response.
In fact, Julian had responded reflexively to the death in his house. He was from New Orleans.
The humid heat and swamps of Louisiana were anything but health promoting. Without any
knowledge of microbiology or the causes of infectious diseases, he had been taught from early
childhood that dirt meant disease and death. The slaves knew that and tried to protect themselves as
best they could. It was well known that the white people succumbed to every epidemic much more
often than the slaves did, only their masters believed that it was because the black people were
somehow inferior. But Julian’s father, an intelligent man, who treated his slaves comparatively well,
listened to their wisdom. Disregarding the prevalent opinion, he had been able to put together cause
and effect, and with a conviction of the newly converted enforced cleanliness in his house and
among his family. Julian would retain his dread of filth forever, even when he no longer would have
to fear infectious diseases.
Archon offered Julian work; to take him in and take care of him, and Julian accepted without
hesitation. He didn’t want to stay in the house where his conscience was constantly battered by
what had happened. He sold his house and gave the money to his brother. It was the first time he
saw his son since the baby had been born and his heart was constricted by pain. But he could not
find the strength within himself to take care of his baby.
So Julian started to work for Archon, a middle-aged, wealthy landowner. Only a couple of
weeks later one of the men came running to Archon on Saturday evening. He was apparently quite
scared.
"Julian’s sick!" he shouted. "He’s really in a bad shape!"
Archon frowned in disgust. The men pretended often enough that they were sick, just to avoid
working. But then he remembered that it was Saturday, and the next day they were free to go to
town. Some would go to church; others would get drunk, gamble and try to find women. Not a day
to pretend to be sick.
When Archon entered Julian’s room he was surprised that there was total darkness. The man
who had altered Archon said:
"He told me to get rid of the lamp."
"Bring in some fresh water," Archon ordered and sat down on the edge of Julian’s bed once
the man was out of the room. Archon could see perfectly well in the darkness. He noticed that the
young man was very pale but not sweaty. Archon’s hand touched Julian’s forehead. It was cool.
But Julian moaned and turned his head away.
"What’s wrong with you?" There was a trace of worry in Archon’s voice.
"Bad headache," Julian was whispering. "It makes me throw up, and the light hurts. I’ll be all
right tomorrow."
"You’ve had it before?"
"Yes. It will pass."
Archon nodded and stood up.
"You need peace and quiet," he said. "Let’s get you out of here."
Julian started to protest feebly but Archon lifted him as if he were a child and carried him to
the main house. He had understood immediately that Julian suffered from migraine - a debilitating
but not dangerous disease. The young man was put in one of the guestrooms in Archon’s mansion.
He was sick for three days and Archon took care of him during that time. Then the attack ended as
if it had never been, leaving Julian somewhat weakened for a day but thoroughly happy that the pain
was gone. He told Archon that he had been suffering from these severe attacks of headache since he
was eleven years old. Apparently he had inherited it from his father who had been similarly affected
for as long as Julian could remember. Julian’s migraine would return every few weeks; he’d always
know when an attack was impending: the light and sound would suddenly become offensive, and he
would smell scents that just weren’t there. During one of these attacks Archon told Julian that he
was tired of carrying him around, and from that time on Julian stayed permanently in the main
house, working mostly under Archon’s supervision. But it didn’t keep Julian out of trouble.
Somehow he always managed to be where there was something going on that might lead to
violence. If it didn’t, to Archon’s dismay, Julian would provoke the violence himself.
Stefan Langhelis Americanized his first name to Stephen when the opportunity arose. A tall,
thin man in mid-thirties, his eyes light blue, his long hair so fair that it was almost white, he was
second generation immigrant from Latvia, born only a few months after his parents had arrived in
America. He had inherited many cultural traits from his family. Drinking hard liquor was one of
them.
Julian Luna on the other hand, whose family had lived in Louisiana for several generations,
was still quite French. Among his relatives drinking anything stronger than wine was considered
inappropriate. But he didn’t dare to confess to his newly found friend that he had never drunk
whiskey, and tried to keep up with Stephen’s pace. The result was disastrous. To Stephen’s dismay
Julian became sick long before he even started to get drunk and had to get out. It made Stephen
mad: his trick hadn’t worked.
Stephen had returned to Archon’s house after an eight months long absence. He had been
traveling up and down the West Coast buying goods and tools with Archon’s gold and had been
quite successful in his trade. That’s why Archon had allowed him to return. The unfortunate
business with the injured boy had been forgotten.
Stephen had noticed Julian Luna immediately upon his return. He was good-looking and he
was unusually clean. Stephen liked what he saw. But he could hardly try to seduce Julian under
Archon’s watchful eye. Archon hadn’t said anything but Stephen knew what his Sire was thinking.
Julian wasn’t a poverty stricken teenage boy that could be lured into Stephen’s bed and then paid
off with enough gold to make up for any damage that had been inflicted. Julian Luna was an adult
and he would not be intimidated by Stephen. If the Kindred resorted to violence, the mortal would
fight back and probably end up dead. Archon would not accept that. Apparently, he was quite fond
of Julian himself, and it drove Stephen mad that the beautiful young man seemed to be out of his
reach.
Stephen did his best to ingrate himself into Julian’s favor. His friendship was accepted
gratefully, but that was all that Stephen was able to accomplish. Julian Luna was straight and
apparently totally unaware of Stephen’s desire. He just didn’t see the passes Stephen made. Being
of French ancestry, Julian was more tolerant of physical contact than Anglo-Saxons were. An arm
around his shoulders, a pat on the back or the knee, a hug, were gestures of friendship to Julian
Luna, nothing more. In his frustration Stephen conjured the idea of getting Julian drunk enough to
take advantage of him, an idea that proved disastrous.
Archon found Julian sitting on the porch, his head hanging between his knees. He had
apparently been sick. When Archon came closer he was overwhelmed by the stench of the local
moonshine. It surprised him; Julian had never drunk before.
"You should know better than drinking this... this..." Archon could not find an appropriate
word, and using bad language was not his habit.
"Shit!" Julian helpfully supplied the right invective, making Archon blink in surprise. Julian
had never sworn in Archon’s presence, not even in French. The young man tried to get up but was
sick again. Archon watched in silence as Julian got up to his feet unsteadily and moved a few steps
sideways in an effort to get away from the mess. He sat down heavily but missed the porch and
landed on the ground. He let his head rest against his knees and didn’t try to get up again. Archon
continued looking at him with a disapproving frown. It was so out of character. Julian, always so
neat and clean, who had earned the nickname ‘Coon’ among his friends; he was always washing
everything, looked like an unusually filthy heap of misery right now. It was not like Julian at all.
Archon sighed and fetched a bucket of water. He emptied it over Julian, expecting an expletive,
but the young man only huddled up under the cold waterfall. Archon fetched more water. Three
buckets later he dared to pick up Julian and steered him into the house. Archon had to help him to
get out of the wet clothes and dried him using his own towel. He had brought the young man into
his own bedroom, afraid to leave him alone. Julian was only semi conscious. Archon felt his anger
rise.
"How could you do something so stupid?" he said, a note of contempt in his voice. "If you
really must drink, you could at least drink something better than that..."
"Stephen bought the whiskey," Julian mumbled.
"Stephen?" Archon exclaimed but Julian had already fallen asleep.
Archon fetched a blanket, deciding to let Julian sleep it off in his bed, but before he covered
the naked figure, he looked at the young man for a long moment, trying to see Julian as Stephen
saw him. He let the blanket fall over the sleeping man and shaking his had in despair decided that
Stephen and Julian had to be separated in order to avoid disaster. Julian was blameless, apparently
unaware of the Kindred’s desire, so Stephen would have to leave.
Archon confronted Stephen the next day, prepared to send him off on some errand that would
keep him away for several months.
"You want to keep him for yourself!" Stephen had shouted, mindless of his Sire’s expression
of disgust.
Archon, who had never suffered from uncontrolled passion, was hard pressed to keep his
calm. He was mad at Stephen; he even felt anger towards Julian, although the young man had done
nothing to evoke it. But Archon was not blind. Eventually Julian Luna would forget his grief. Then
the trouble would start. As of now he was oblivious of the women that were trying to catch his
attention, but when he did notice them, well, there was no telling what would happen. There might be
more trouble in the future than Archon had bargained for. Stephen was the only one who had acted
on his desires for the time being, unsuccessfully, thank God. But what would happen when Julian
responded to somebody’s advances? That beautiful face… Those dark eyes will wreck havoc in
many female hearts. They already had. Evelyn was dead, and her young sister was locked away in
an asylum because of Julian Luna.
Stephen was sent away. The next time he returned, almost a year later, Julian Luna had become
Kindred. He never tried to seduce Julian again, but his thwarted desire would turn with time into
hatred. He pretended friendship, and it would take a hundred and fifty years before Julian Luna
would find out the truth about his blood brother’s true nature.
"So… you became Kindred." Frank and Julian were sitting on a bench in the park, and the
policeman had listened to the story without interrupting. But when the Prince fell silent, Frank
prodded for more. "Why?"
"I think there are as many reasons as there are Kindred," Julian said. But Frank would not let
him avoid the question.
"I wasn’t asking about other people’s reasons; I’m asking about yours. Somehow I can’t
imagine you coveting immortality or inhuman strength or power or..." Frank stopped, blushing, and
Julian smiled.
"No," he said, "not sex either." Julian looked at Frank for a long moment realizing that he
wouldn’t be let off the hook. He sighed. "It may sound strange to you, but I wanted
invulnerability."
"Invulnerability?" Frank stared at the Prince uncomprehending. "But you told me...
remember... you told me that you can be hurt, that you’re not invulnerable!"
"Yes, I can be hurt, but... I can’t be maimed." Julian shook his head and looked away. By now
Frank knew the Prince well enough to interpret his reaction correctly. Julian Luna didn’t want to
talk but Frank was determined to get to the bottom of this.
"Maimed?" he prodded, and Julian sighed again.
"Ever since I was a child I have been afraid of that. You see, I had a younger brother who lost
a finger in an accident. There were others... my grandmother was blind. Another relative lost both
legs due to illness. The slaves were often maimed deliberately because of petty crimes. It was
terrible. I used to have nightmares... I saw a slave branded and castrated. It was in 1845, I’ll never
forget it. There were no anesthetics, no antibiotics... I can still hear his screams. He was my age,
fifteen. I had known him all my life, we used to play together. I don’t know why it was done to him,
I tried to stop it and was forced to watch by the adults..." Julian shivered visibly. "They ripped him
with a pair of old rusty shears. He died of the infection that developed in the wound. It took several
days, he was in terrible pain until he lost consciousness at the end." Julian fell silent and Frank
didn’t want to disturb him. It had happened so long ago, yet Frank could sense the fear and
revulsion that emanated from the Kindred.
He remembers slavery, Frank thought. He remembers the Civil War; he remembers both
world wars. Somehow it had never registered with Frank before. He looked up at Julian and saw
that the Prince was lost deep in his memories, an expression of horror on his face.
"Something happened to you," Frank realized at last. "Before you became Kindred."
"Yes," Julian admitted, "long before."
Frank leaned back.
"You seem... whole," he said, and Julian smiled.
"Yes, I’m whole." The smile was exchanged by an expression of pain. "My father saved me
from mutilation. It was in 1847..."
New Orleans - 1847
Julian’s father kept order in his house with what he believed to be an iron fist. He would whip
his wife, his two sons and his slaves into submission. The smarting leather caught Julian more often
than the others because he tried to protect his mother and his younger brother, sometimes even the
slaves, against his father’s whip. He took these whippings for granted, they were never severe and
caused no injury, but the whip made a lot of noise and it seemed to satisfy his father. Then
everything changed.
There was a big family gathering in his father’s house, and Julian found himself at the
receiving end of Antoinette’s flirtatious advances. Antoinette was twenty-one and married to one of
Julian’s cousins. Julian was seventeen and the raging hormones made him an easy prey to
Antoinette’s devices. She had sneaked into his bedroom that very night and would have seduced
him had she not been watched and followed by her jealous husband.
The door to Julian’s bedroom was broken down and several men attacked him. He was held
down as Antoinette’s husband kicked and beat him. A hand over his mouth prevented him from
screaming. Then he saw a flash of a knife and somebody shouted, "cut him". As he felt the cold
steel and the heat of the blood gushing over his groin, he managed to bite the hand over his face and
screamed at the top of his lungs when it was jerked away. There was a loud crack of the whip and
the men scattered. Julian curled into a ball, trying to protect his injured parts. He didn’t hear what
the men were shouting nor did he care. He was quite sure that his father would kill him now, and
when the first lash of the whip landed on his back it didn’t surprise him. The loss of blood and the
pain made him faint within minutes.
When he had chased his nephew and that harlot of his wife out of the room, Luna lifted his
son on the bed and turning him looked over his body. He was badly beaten and bruised in several
places, but the cut was only superficial. The whip had saved Julian from mutilation.
Julian was severely ill for weeks. An old slave took care of him; shame prevented his father
from calling in a doctor. The ancient remedies used by the slave not only healed the wounds but
prevented the forming of scars. The lacerations on Julian’s back disappeared without a trace, even
the knife wound healed without leaving a scar.
Julian never saw the whip in his father’s hand again. His cousin and Antoinette never entered
their house again. Two years later the family moved to California.
Napa Valley – 1856.
Archon contemplated Julian’s apparent death wish. It upset him. To let the young man get
himself killed would be such a waste. Six months had passed since Evelyn had died, but instead of
getting over it, Julian seemed to sink increasingly deeper into a black, oppressing depression.
Sometimes he wouldn’t talk to anyone for days, and then explode in violent self-accusations. The
other men avoided him; he was too different and no fun to have around. They didn’t like him, and
besides, he would respond with violence to the slightest provocation. Indeed, Archon was sure that
Julian Luna was trying very hard to get himself killed, but lacked the guts to commit suicide.
Well, I can do it for you, Archon thought. But he decided to talk to Daedalus first.
"It’s for you make the offer, and for him to decide," the Nosferatu said. "But once you tell
him about the Masquerade, his choices will be limited. Either final death or the death of the
Embrace. Do you want him dead?"
"No," Archon was shaking his head, "no, I don’t. But if he became Ventrue he might calm
down. At least I hope so. He is intelligent and might replace Stephen if we educate him. Stephen’s
skills at trading were formidable, but I couldn’t stomach his perversity in the end. He went after
Julian Luna, you know."
Of course, the Nosferatu knew everything. He grimaced in disgust.
"I don’t mind that he prefers to bed men, it’s not as unusual as you think. But he has hurt too
many. Once Julian is Embraced, you can let Stephen return. He’ll not be able to force himself on
another Kindred."
They continued devising plans and discussing different options during most of the night. It
was decided that Archon would tell Julian about the Masquerade and offer him the Embrace. If
Julian refused he would be killed outright.
Archon waited for Julian the next night. It was long past midnight when the young man
returned from town. He had apparently gotten into trouble again. His face was bruised and he had a
nasty bump on the head. He was also in a foul mood, and finding Archon in his room made him
belligerent.
"What do you want?" he lashed out at the older man. "Don’t you ever sleep?"
"My sleeping habits are none of your business," Archon responded calmly. "But yours are
mine."
Julian stared at his employer, shocked. Archon had never said anything impolite to him before.
"You’re working for me, remember?" Archon continued. "The brawls you get yourself into
create business problems. I want you to stop acting like a spoiled child. If you’re trying to end your
life, I can help you. Do you want to die?!" Archon had raised his voice in the end, unable to hide his
anger.
Julian paled visibly. Suddenly he cowered. Hiding his face in his hands he started to cry.
"I wish I were dead," he sniveled. "It’s all my fault. If it weren’t for me… if I hadn’t… she
would still be alive, and my son wouldn’t be an orphan."
Archon sighed. In all sincerity he couldn’t tell Julian that Evelyn’s death wasn’t his fault. But
no amount of despair and self-accusations would bring her back to life.
"Julian," Archon’s voice softened considerably, "she might have died anyway. Many do out
here, you know. This is no place for women. But your boy still has a father. If you get yourself
killed, he’ll really be an orphan. You don’t want that, do you?"
Julian shook his head. Archon remembered the death of his own daughter at the age of ten,
and was able to understand Julian’s desolation. But when Archon’s wife died, only a few years
later, he had felt nothing but relief, freed at last from a loveless marriage. He had never married
again. Archon was driven by desire for power and wealth. The passions of flesh didn’t affect him.
As he looked upon Julian’s misery, Archon was grateful that he had never loved.
When the young man was possible to reach again, Archon made him sit down and listen.
"I have a proposition," he said. "I can promise you that the pain will diminish considerably if
you accept."
Julian Luna did listen. He was young, strong and healthy. The longevity, the immense
strength, the Kindred powers did not impress him. But when Archon told him about the Kindred
ability to heal injuries, Julian became interested. It was inevitable that Julian should accept Archon’s
offer to Embrace him. He never asked what would have happened if he had refused. Only
afterwards did he find out that he might have died for good that night. Before the morning came
Julian Luna became Kindred.
Almost immediately after his Embrace Julian found out that he had lost his body language.
Although he had been born and raised in America, his French ancestry had been quite prevailing.
French had been his first language and his expressiveness had been quite French too. When he
talked, his whole body would talk as well, his hands as busy as his tongue. Now, it was all gone. It
felt as if his body had somehow become disconnected from his brain. Yet, there was nothing wrong
with his perception; he could feel the heat, the cold, the pain and the touch just as well as he had
done before, only more so. Nor was there anything wrong with his reactions. He was stronger,
more agile and quicker than he had been as a mortal, and his endurance seemed inexhaustible. Also,
his headaches became quite infrequent and less severe.
As Archon had promised, Julian’s grief started to subside. He was so engrossed in his new
condition that sometimes several days passed without his thinking about his dead wife. And as
Archon had hoped, Julian Luna calmed considerably. He stopped provoking saloon brawls after he
had killed a man with his bare hands. He was just finding out the extension of his own strength, and
had not expected that he would be able to break his adversary’s back by simply squeezing him. It
scared him and he heeded Archon’s warning: never engage in casual fights with mortals. It’s
forbidden to kill a human, and showing off Kindred strength might expose the Masquerade.
Julian Luna never attacked a mortal again unless he fully intended to kill him. Fortunately,
such events were extremely rare.
"Are you telling me that you’ve never killed a human being?" There was doubt in Frank’s
voice, and Julian eyed him suspiciously.
"Can I take the fifth?" he said smiling, and the policeman made a contemptuous gesture.
"You told me once that our laws do not apply to you."
"Did I?" Julian pretended that he didn’t remember, but he recalled the harrowing scene all too
well. There was nothing wrong with his memory. "We abide by human laws as long as they don’t
threaten us," he said at last. "At least I do," he added, noticing Frank’s scowl.
But Frank was only trying to hide his own embarrassment. He had fired two bullets, almost
point blank, aiming at the heart. For once, Julian had been wearing something white; the red blotch
had spread on his chest in front of the policeman’s incredulous eyes. But the Kindred had walked
away, bleeding and in pain, but alive. Julian had been unarmed and had not threatened Frank in any
way. If he had died that night, it would have been murder. The thought made Frank shudder.
It was late. Julian got up from the bench and looked up at the sky. He was able to see the stars
through the polluted air and haze of the city lights. His knowledge of astronomy allowed him to tell
the time exactly.
"Frank, it’s past midnight. I have to go before they start turning the city inside out. Before
Daedalus really does have a fit."
"Uhuh," Frank got up too. "It’s no fun being the Prince, is it?" he teased the Kindred.
"No, it isn’t," Julian responded quite seriously.
"Well, I have to go back to work," Frank said. "Don’t get lost on your way home." He was
trying to lighten up Julian’s grim expression, and to his surprise, he saw the Kindred smile."
"I think I will."
"Will what?" As it often happened, Frank had lost track of Julian’s leaps of thought.
"Get lost."
"Huh?"
"I think I will get lost for the rest of the night." Julian seemed to have forgotten Frank’s
presence, as if he were talking to himself. "I need to regain my freedom."
"What will you do, where will you go?"
Julian shrugged.
"The mansion has become a prison. Don’t worry, this is my city. I’ll find someplace to hide."
Frank looked at the Kindred for a long moment. At last he reached into his pocket.
"Here," he shoved a pair of keys into Julian’s hand. "Go to my place. No one will look for
you there. I have to go back to the station," he added ignoring Julian’s surprised stare. He walked
away quickly, aware of the fact that he might have invited disaster into his own home.
On his way home Frank started to feel apprehension. He had offered Julian the possibility to
hide in his apartment, but now he wasn’t sure that it had been such a good idea. He had given the
Kindred his keys; he had a spare set in his office and remembered to take them with him when it
was time to go home. It was almost three a.m.
The door was unlocked. All lights were out but Frank didn’t need illumination in order to get
around. He took a beer out of the fridge and opened it on his way to the bathroom but stopped
halfway, wondering where Julian was. He turned on the light in the living room; it was empty. The
door to his bedroom was closed and Frank hesitated in front of it. He turned and went to the
bathroom. He showered quickly and swept a towel around his hips as he walked towards the
bedroom, determined to chase Julian Luna out of his bed. However, he made sure to be as quiet as
possible when he entered. The reading lamp at the head of the bed was lit. In its light Frank could
see that Julian had indeed fallen asleep in his bed. He was lying on his stomach, an arm stretched
along his side, the other bent, the hand under his face. The thin sheet that covered him reached
halfway up his back. He had left the covers and the pillow on the empty half of the bed.
Frank stood looking at the Kindred, realizing that he had seen Julian naked once before, when
he had attacked him with a cast-iron poker at Lillie’s. He sat down and leaned closer to the sleeping
man. The silence was uncanny although Frank had experienced it before. Julian Luna wasn’t
breathing, the skin on his shoulder was cold to Frank’s touch. He let his hand slide over Julian’s
back until it came to rest a little to the left of the spine, just beneath the shoulder blade. Julian’s
heart beat about once every minute.
Frank lay down and drew the covers over himself after having turned off the lamp. He was
tired but the sleep wouldn’t come and he was wondering why he was so tense. After all he had
shared his bed with Kindred before, Alexandra and Lillie. But Julian Luna was different - Julian
Luna was a man. It made Frank uncomfortable. He was aware that Julian was naked under the thin
sheet, and although he seemed more dead than alive, his presence was unnerving. The total stillness
calmed Frank in the end and he fell asleep.
Frank woke up with a start, the echo of a pleasant dream dying away. Shocked, he realized that
he had rolled over in his sleep and was resting against Julian’s chest, whose arm was slung over his
shoulder. He tried to slide away cautiously but Julian followed his motion, his grip around the
policeman tightening.
No way! Frank thought. He yanked himself free from the Kindred’s hold swearing under his
breath. The abrupt movement woke Julian Luna and he was instantly aware of where he was and
what had happened.
"I’m sorry," he mumbled turning on his back and sliding away. "It’s your body-heat, nothing
else. I’d not drink your blood."
Frank raised himself on his elbow and looked at his bedmate. Julian’s eyes glittered in the
dark and he laughed softly. It made Frank angry and embarrassed at the same time.
"Look," he started placing a hand on Julian’s chest, but forgot what he was going to say
because instead of the cold lifelessness his hand encountered resilient heat. Julian’s skin was now
warmer than Frank’s, and his heart was beating frantically under the policeman’s palm. Frank let
his fingers glide over Julian’s chest and leaned closer. The Kindred was breathing now, his ribs
moved up and down and his heartbeat had increased considerably. Frank realized with incredulity
that his own heartbeat and breath had increased too. Slowly, almost reluctantly, he bowed over
Julian and kissed him on the mouth. The Kindred responded to the kiss without hesitation, and
Frank could feel Julian’s hand move over his shoulder until it took hold of his neck, holding on to
him, preventing him from breaking away. Julian put his other arm around Frank’s waist and drew
him closer, until their bodies rested against each other in an intimate embrace. Then, suddenly,
Frank was freed and pushed away.
"I think we would both regret it," Julian said in an uneven voice. "Let’s not destroy our
friendship," he continued.
Frank was shocked and dismayed. Both by what he had done and by Julian’s rejection.
"I can’t believe that I have done that," he said. "I’ve never been interested in having sex with a
man!" He eyed Julian suspiciously
"I didn’t trick you into this," Julian said shaking his head. "Believe me!" He was silent for a
moment. "I wouldn’t have stopped you if I had," he added. "Not that it isn’t tempting, but it’s your
friendship I want, not your body."
"Tempting?" Frank’s alarm increased, and Julian smiled in the semidarkness of the early
morning.
"It’s not so much sex but the nearness. I’m not gay. Ever since Caitlin died I’ve been very
careful not to let anybody come too close. I’m afraid of getting hurt again, I guess. Still, I miss it."
Frank stared at him. He had lost track of what Julian was saying.
"Miss what?" he asked outright.
"The closeness of another person. Someone for whom I care," Julian answered, and Frank
heard the note of sadness in the Kindred’s voice.
"You... care for me?" he asked softly.
"I do," Julian responded. "You remind me of myself... when I was mortal. You must feel it
too. After all, you know what I am and what I can do but you have never been afraid of me."
Frank couldn’t help laughing.
"Well, that’s true," he said. Suddenly he was serious again. "I don’t know why I did it, kiss
you I mean. You didn’t seem surprised or upset or... reluctant."
"You did surprise me, that’s why I didn’t... You see, I’m not afraid of you either."
"I don’t follow your reasoning," Frank said.
"If you had scared me, I would have reacted differently," Julian responded.
"Oh," was all of Frank’s comment.
"Frank!" Suddenly there was agitation in Julian’s voice. "I’m straight. The little experience of
homosexuality that I had was, except for one incident, unpleasant in the extreme."
Frank was trying to understand what Julian had said. It took some time. He stared at the
Prince, trying to imagine what he was about to say. Trying to see him as a young boy, a teenager
maybe, slender, beautiful and vulnerable.
"You were sexually abused!" Frank concluded with incredulity. He saw Julian square his
shoulders.
"Sexually abused!" The Prince laughed derisively. "The euphemisms you humans use!" He
got up abruptly as if he intended to leave, flee from something, but stopped himself. His eyes
focused on the policeman’s face.
"Frank," he spoke evenly, "I was tortured and raped until I lost consciousness, and when I
regained it, I was tortured and raped again. Had I been human, in all likelihood I wouldn’t have
survived..."
Frank could just stare, shocked.
"I’m sorry," he whispered.
"Why, you didn’t do it," Julian responded. "You couldn’t do anything to stop either. It
happened in New York."
"When... when did it..." Frank’s voice trailed off as he suddenly remembered and Julian
nodded.
"Yes, even you noticed that I had been... mistreated." He looked away again and this time
Frank didn’t have the guts to pursue the subject. He contemplated for a moment what Julian had
told him.
"You said something about an incident..." he started and Julian laughed a rather nervous
laugh.
"I didn’t say anything about it but I bet you’d notice," he said. "I did have sex with a man
once... no, wrong, I allowed him to have sex with me. I didn’t like it."
"You didn’t, huh?"
"No!" Julian shivered a little. "I didn’t like it at all." A shadow of a smile crossed the Prince’s
features. "However," he continued, "it was an interesting experience, not totally unpleasant. I did
enjoy it in a way, if you can understand that."
Frank didn’t even try to understand.
"Archon?" he asked only and Julian laughed again.
"The only time Archon ever touched me was when he Embraced me. If he ever wanted more I
was never aware of it."
Or was I? Julian wondered. It’s perfectly true that Archon never touched me but... did he
want to? And did I know it? Was I flaunting my love affairs in his face in order to keep him at a
distance? Well, it doesn’t matter now! He smiled at Frank’s expression.
"Archon was my Sire," he said. "He was a father to me for fifteen decades. My own father
died only a few months after my wedding."
"What happened to him, I mean your father?" Frank asked.
"Auri sacra fames."
"Hey, I don’t speak French," Frank pointed out.
"It’s Latin. Accursed desire for gold."
But for some reason that he couldn’t understand Frank felt suddenly offended.
"You don’t have to throw my lack of education right in my face!" he said angrily, making
Julian frown.
"Frank, nobody speaks Latin nowadays. It’s just a quotation. As regards education, when I
was your age I could read and write and count without using my fingers, that’s all. In case it hasn’t
registered with you I might point out that I have been around for more than a hundred and sixty
years. I’ve had time to pick up a few things."
"I’m sorry," Frank felt rather stupid and put off. "I guess I just never gave it a thought.
Somehow I imagined that you’re my age, younger as a matter of fact." Frank’s mistake was
understandable. Julian Luna did look younger than the policeman, no matter how much he tried to
appear more mature. "So, your father succumbed to the lure of gold, but you didn’t. How come?"
"I was otherwise engaged."
"Otherwise engaged?" The tone of Frank’s voice made Julian turn red in the face. The
policeman had guessed right: while Luna senior was involved in the pursuit of gold, Julian had
fallen in love.
Napa Valley - 1856
What first attracted Julian’s attention to Evelyn was her unusual coloring. Her skin was so
white that it seemed to glow. Whenever she became embarrassed, which happened easily, her whole
face, neck and ears would turn pink and that would embarrass her even more. Her straight hair was
blonde, golden as ripe wheat and her eyes were deep blue. It took Julian no time to notice how
beautiful she was although everything in her appearance tried to deny that. She used no make-up
and she wore her hair in an ugly bun that hung down her neck. Only spectacles were lacking to
make her look like a spinstery schoolteacher. Julian looked at her pink lips, merely a shade darker
than her skin, and was embarrassed by his own thought. He had caught himself wondering whether
her nipples were as light pink as her lips.
Evelyn and her seven years younger sister had come to California with their uncle and his
family. The man had come to dig for gold and was only too happy to be rid of one of his nieces;
one mouth less to feed. Julian and Evelyn were married only a month after they had met in his
father’s office, were he conducted his business, mostly buying gold from the men who had found
it. It wasn’t poverty that had sent the Luna family to the other side of America but sheer greed of
Julian’s father. Julian had never known poverty and never would. It was the one misery that he
would be spared. But at the moment any thoughts of money and gold were even more distant than
they had been when he had first arrived in California six years ago. He had dutifully worked with
his father just as did his brother, and was quite satisfied with whatever his father paid him. Luna
Senior considered himself quite a shrewd businessman and Julian never challenged that, the way his
brother sometimes would. Right now Julian was scared witless as he faced his bride on their
wedding night.
Ever since Julian had turned fifteen, he seemed to be in a perpetual state sexual excitement.
The young white girls were of course unreachable, protected and watched as nuns in a convent. The
white women weren’t interested in teenage boys. That left the slaves. Although the slaves had no
legal rights they were nevertheless protected by unwritten laws. It was of course different in the
countryside, but in the city ‘things’ were known. A white man who had a black mistress was
regarded with contempt. If a white man raped a white woman he would face dire legal
consequences, but if he raped a slave he would become a social pariah. Whatever means he might
use to intimidate a slave into becoming his mistress would pass as long as he didn’t resort to
violence. The poor slaves would sell their bodies for the promise that their children wouldn’t be
sold, better food, lighter duties or gifts, but outright force was seldom used. Some learned to take
advantage of their owner’s lust. A few were genuinely loved. Julian learned very quickly that small
gifts would buy the attention of slave girls. They would consent to be ‘friendly’ but would not
sleep with him, and he was of course too inexperienced and too shy to demand that. But their kisses
and caresses were quite satisfactory. Like any young boy Julian was easy to please. There was one
girl however, Arlette, a little older than the others, who demanded more than gifts and sweets. She
taught Julian that women could enjoy kisses and touch as much as he did. He could still remember
the fearful surprise that overwhelmed him when he first felt her nipple harden against his palm. Due
to Arlette’s demand for pleasure, without ever having slept with her or any other woman, Julian had
learned more about female sexuality than many married men had. Still, he was sick with
nervousness when he and Evelyn were at last left alone. Arlette’s teachings would come to good
use, preventing their wedding night from becoming a total disaster. Evelyn had no knowledge about
sex whatsoever.
She held him as he shuddered in his release, watched his face contorting, listened to his cries.
"What’s wrong?" she asked in a fearful voice, but he shook his head smiling shakily.
"It feels so good," he whispered.
"I thought you were in pain." Evelyn wasn’t convinced.
"It feels so good that it hurts," Julian responded.
He had managed to elicit response from her with his kisses and caresses. Determined to
overcome her shyness she had relaxed and enjoyed his touch until her body reacted in a way that it
almost scared her. The intensity of the pleasure brought tears to her eyes. But when Julian started to
make love to her, the very act of penetration was enough to send him over the edge and he peaked
within seconds, much too soon for his own liking. He had wanted the pleasure to last longer. It
worked a little better the next time they made love that night, but it took Julian several weeks before
he learned to control his own reactions well enough to be satisfied with his own performance, as
well as to allow his wife time to enjoy herself.
"So… what happened to your wife?" Frank inquired.
"She died in childbirth."
No amount of prodding helped. Julian refused to say anything more about his wife, and his
expression told Frank that he was overstepping the line. He let it rest. Frank had lost his wife too; it
made him understand Julian’s reluctance. He changed the subject.
"Alright, what about this incident you mentioned before, who was it?"
"You won’t leave it alone, will you?" Julian was apparently ill at ease, but Frank was sure that
another opportunity to find out as much as he could about Julian Luna might never present itself.
He knew that he probably wouldn’t dare to invite the Prince to spend the night in his apartment
again.
"C’mon, you already told me that you did. It wasn’t Daedalus, was it? He isn’t the sort…"
Julian was shaking his head.
"No, no, it was Arthur. My loyal bodyguard. The one who took care of Caitlin."
Frank recalled the tall, blond man.
"Yes, I remember him. But I haven’t seen him around for… uh, two years?"
"He died." Julian’s voice was filled with pain. "The very day when… he was killed saving my
life."
"How come you two ended up in bed all of a sudden."
"A mistake. I found myself in a situation which required that I pretended to be gay. Arthur
was at hand. I asked him to teach me how to behave and… well, I let it go too far, that’s all there
was to it."
"But… you knew he was gay, didn’t you?" Frank was trying to understand. "Didn’t it bother
you?"
"Yes, I knew, and no, it didn’t bother me." Julian was shrugging. "Why should it? He never
did anything… wrong. He was a loyal friend and a trusted bodyguard. I just didn’t see… lack of
imagination, I guess."
San Francisco - 1989
Julian clamped his teeth together until it hurt, preventing laughter from spilling forth.
If I start giggling now, he’ll cut off my head, he thought.
Still, it was difficult to keep the hilarity in check. The human was holding a big knife against
his throat, the serrated edge had already seared the skin slightly, and a few droplets of blood trickled
down towards Julian’s collar. The knife was pressed against his carotid artery, and Julian knew that
a wrong move might get him killed, the absurdity of the situation notwithstanding.
In spite of his newly acquired status as the Prince of the city, Julian Luna had sneaked away
from the mansion without guards, and had gone to one of his favorite clubs. He had always enjoyed
being among humans, people who didn’t know who or what he was. This was one of the more
expensive places; it provided good music, excellent wines and amiable company. Julian was one of
the regular customers and would always get one of the best tables. Many homosexual men
frequented the club and some of them had tried to approach Julian in the past. He had always
declined their invitations politely, and they would leave him alone. After all, he was a well-known
womanizer, and the ladies used him as much as he used them. However, one of the gay men became
Julian’s friend. A tall, well built, fair man, with an unbelievable Spanish accent, Arthur had a black
belt in karate, and he had decided that Julian was in need of his protection. Julian’s assurances that
he was quite capable of taking care of himself and didn’t need Arthur’s help to fend off any
unwanted passes went past Arthur’s ears unheard or at least unheeded.
"You’re scaring off the ladies," Julian often told Arthur, but the gay man only laughed.
"You’re leaving with a woman in tow every time you come here. There’s no reason for you to
complain," Arthur retorted, and it was Julian’s turn to laugh.
In fact Julian appreciated Arthur’s company. The young mortal was indeed from Spain, but
had inherited his unusual coloring from his Dutch mother. After her death, Arthur’s father took
him, his two younger sisters, and some other relatives and immigrated to America. They had settled
in San Francisco from the very start and ten years later Arthur had a degree engineering. He didn’t
know that he was working for one of the companies that Julian owned. It was perfectly true that
Julian Luna would not need Arthur’s or anybody else’s help if he were attacked by humans. He
was much stronger and swifter than any mortal was, but to get involved in a fight with a human
might expose the Masquerade, and that had to be avoided at all costs. Arthur’s rather intimidating
presence helped to keep would-be attackers at bay when Julian’s own bodyguards weren’t around.
Because there was something about Julian Luna that infuriated other men. There was an air of
superiority and confidence, of barely concealed contempt, that provoked mortal males to violence,
especially when they were drunk.
"You’re too handsome for your own good," one of his adversaries once commented.
"Someone will remodel that beautiful face one day."
Julian had not been surprised. He had gotten into trouble because of his looks before. In spite
of the popular belief, Kindred could see their reflection in the mirror, and Julian had seen his own
face often enough, unchanging through the ages, realizing long ago why women found him
irresistible and why men resented him. Although he had always tried to stay away from any conflict
with humans, Arthur had nevertheless noticed that Julian was different. The Kindred didn’t know
what the mortal suspected until Arthur knocked over a glass filled with wine. Julian reacted without
thinking, moving swifter than could bee seen. He caught the glass just before it hit the floor,
preventing it from shattering. Only the wine sloshed over his hand. He put the glass back on the
table and reached for a napkin to clean his hand when his gaze met Arthur’s. He recognized the
expression on the other man’s face. It was utter disbelief and Julian knew then that the glass had
been knocked over deliberately. He felt his anger rise and fled before Arthur could see his eyes turn
bright green.
He had been standing in front of the mirror for several minutes, waiting for his anger to die
down, watching his eyes return to their normal brown color. Someone came in while he was
washing the wine from his hands and Julian only cast a glance at the new arrival, making sure that it
wasn’t Arthur. He was in no mood for any interrogation.
I must never come back here, he thought.
He was wondering whether he should try to find out what Arthur knew and make him forget
what he had seen. He was so absorbed by his own thoughts that he didn’t notice what was
happening until he saw the reflection of the man that had come in suddenly loom behind him, and
felt the knife being pressed against his neck.
Julian stood absolutely still. Although he was infuriated by the fact that he had allowed the
man to attack him, he didn’t intend to lose his head or harm the mortal over whatever the man was
after. As he looked down he was able to see the hairy hand that was holding the knife. It shook
unsteadily.
"The money is in my left breast pocket," Julian said. He didn’t know how much money he
had but losing it would be of no significance. Except for the shame of being robbed in the men’s
room in his favorite club.
The man’s other arm came around Julian, but instead of searching his pockets it started
tugging at his belt. Julian was so surprised that he didn’t understand what his attacker was after
until he was grabbed so hard that he flinched in pain, and the knife made another notch in his skin.
"Now I’ve got you," the man hissed in his ear. "Don’t move!"
Julian was thinking furiously. Being robbed was one thing, but this… A wave of nausea swept
trough him but he ignored it, devising ways of getting the knife away from his neck. A couple of
inches would be enough. He looked at the reflection of the red face of the attacker in the mirror,
then closed his eyes, but not entirely. He could still see the hand with the knife. He let all his
muscles turn limp and leaned against the heaving chest behind him, although everything inside him
screamed in disgust at the unpleasant touch. His knees buckled and he started to slide along the
man’s torso towards the floor.
"Hey!" The man was shouting. "Don’t faint!"
That was the most idiotic demand I’ve ever heard, Julian thought.
Then the hand with the knife was gone, but as the arm was closing around Julian’s waist, he
decided to heed the ‘idiotic demand’. The molester would never know what happened; the human
perception just isn’t quick enough to follow a Kindred’s blindingly fast movements. Julian twisted
within the man’s hold with a cat’s agility, and his hand closed on the exposed windpipe. His
fingers squeezed it with inhuman strength and he watched coldly the eyes of his attacker bulge as
he ripped his throat out. For Julian everything was happening in slow motion. The clatter of the
knife as it hit the floor. The flailing hands that were moving towards the wound as if something
could be done to stop the blood that was splashing over Julian’s face with rhythmic bursts. He was
so sickened by what the attacker had been trying to do that the blood only increased his disgust
instead of evoking hunger, making him think that his humanity wasn’t totally gone. A strange
thought, considering that he had just killed a mortal. The sound of the door opening and Arthur’s
concerned voice, distant yet demanding attention.
"Julian, are you alright? You’ve been gone for so long…"
Then there was silence for one second before the body fell. Julian looked at it and then threw
down the piece of flesh that he was still holding in his hand. He turned facing Arthur. Arthur’s gaze
traveled between the dead man and Julian’s disheveled clothes and blood-covered hands and face.
The blood didn’t hide Julian Luna’s green stare.
"He wasn’t trying to rob you, was he?" Arthur’s voice was level, there was no hint of what he
was thinking or what he intended to do.
Julian shook his head.
"No, he…"
"I know, he has done it before."
Arthur bolted the door and came closer. Julian took an involuntary step back, but Arthur only
took hold of his arm and turned him around. His hand moved towards the tap.
"Clean yourself," he ordered. "I will help you get away unnoticed, but it won’t work if you
look like Jack the Ripper."
To his surprise Julian started to laugh.
"It’s no laughing matter!"
"You’ll find it difficult to believe, but I helped to catch Jack the Ripper." He started to splash
cold water in his face. Once the blood was washed off he put his clothes in order and faced Arthur
again. The human was watching him intently.
"I thought he was never caught," Arthur said at last.
"He was caught alright," Julian responded. "But he was never tried in a public court."
"And?"
"He was condemned and executed."
Arthur eyed Julian suspiciously.
"Whatever happened to Jack the Ripper, happened at least a hundred years ago."
Julian Luna smiled.
"Almost exactly."
"I don’t know what to believe," Arthur said at last. "I don’t believe that you’re the devil, but
you’re no angel either. Are you going to tell me what you are?"
"I will. But not here. Let’s get away from this carnage."
They managed to sneak out of the club unnoticed.
"I didn’t make it up to get away with murder," Julian was saying, exasperated. He didn’t know
what reaction he had expected from Arthur, but it certainly wasn’t disbelief. "You can believe me or
not," he continued, "but helping me to get away makes you an accomplice after the fact. If you go to
the police and..."
"I won’t go to the police," Arthur interrupted him. "That guy had it coming. As I told you
before, this wasn’t the first time he had attacked someone, although he usually did with more
success." Arthur laughed mirthlessly. "It was his bad luck that he eventually had to run into you.
I’ve seen him stalking you for quite some time. That’s why I tried to stay at your side. I thought
you needed protection. Apparently not."
Julian shook his head in mock sadness.
"I’ve told you that I am in no need of protection. As you saw, I’m quite capable of protecting
myself." He was quiet for a short moment. "You were not supposed to see what I can do. I wish
you hadn’t."
"Well, I did." Arthur’s heavy Spanish accent was more pronounced than ever; he was too
nervous to control that. Julian on the other hand was a picture of serenity. This wasn’t the first time
his secret had been exposed, and by now he knew how he could deal with the situation. There were
several options. He could make Arthur forget what had happened by mesmerizing him and pushing
the memory into the young man’s subconscious. He could Embrace him, if that were Arthur’s
wish. He could kill him. Arthur was big, strong and well trained, but he would be no match for
Julian Luna, the new Prince of the City.
Arthur chose to become Kindred.
When Julian introduced his new bodyguard to Archon, the older Kindred felt apprehension.
He remembered Stephen all too well. Stephen, whom he had sent off to Washington State, when it
was still a wilderness. He had done that to keep Stephen away from Julian Luna. A disaster had
been avoided. Would Arthur become a new Stephen?
"Not much of a bodyguard," Archon commented when he and Julian were alone. "After all, he
is gay."
"So was Alexander the Great," Julian had retorted, silencing his Sire effectively.
Archon realized immediately that Arthur had fallen in love with Julian Luna. But he was not an
abuser like Stephen, and Archon decided to let it rest. Julian wouldn’t notice anyway. Arthur
became a valuable associate and friend of the Prince.
Julian Luna found out that his trusted bodyguard was in love with him on the day Arthur was
killed.
Frank looked out. The sun had risen almost an hour ago. He cast a glance at Julian Luna who
was putting on his coat, ready to leave. He looked as neat as he always did. Every hair in place, his
pale face well shaved, his clothes in perfect order.
"Is it all right for you to go out now?" Frank asked. "It’s full daylight out there."
Julian nodded.
"There is no danger," he said, "yet. But I must go. I need to get some sleep. We’ve talked
away most of the night."
Frank made a wide grin.
"I want to hear more. There’s a gap of more than a hundred years left."
Julian sighed in exasperation.
"I don’t feel like telling you the story of my whole life. It hasn’t been all that exciting."
"Well, tell me what you think was important."
Julian looked at Frank for a long moment.
"You have an uncanny way of dragging whatever you wish out of me. Is this how you found
out about us from Alexandra? She disclosed the Masquerade to you and condemned herself death
by doing it. If you drag too much out of me, it might prove fatal to you. To both of us."
"What do you mean?" Frank was taken aback.
"Just remember, you have been warned."
Julian left Frank to ponder over his last remark.
Nobody made any fuss when Julian returned to the mansion in midmorning. Daedalus
pretended that he hadn’t noticed that the Prince had been absent all night. The servants and guards
went about their business as if nothing out of the ordinary had happened.
Of course, it was the Nosferatu who had sensed that Julian was about to revolt. Daedalus gave
the orders when the Prince wasn’t around. This time he told everybody that they must stop treating
Julian Luna as if he were mentally retarded or the ‘goddamned pope’.
From that day on, Julian was able to have some privacy even when he left the mansion, and the
guards never protested when he told them to get lost. But he seldom did that. Julian Luna had made
his point, and although he was not the ‘goddamned pope’, he was the Prince of the city, and
inevitably attended as one.
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