Foster Fledgling
Chapter Ten
"He doesn't seem to mind," Armand said, as they turned the corner.
François knelt over the body of a young woman, a shapeless canvas bag in his hands. He pulled out a wallet, and removed a large bundle of cash, several plastic credit cards, and several pieces of identification. He stood as Louis and Armand approached, and stepped back from the body.
"She has a lot of different names," he commented, handing the items to Louis. "Not much money, though." He pointed to a large house behind him, its windows boarded up and its garden overgrown with weeds; a rusting automobile of indistinct vintage was just visible along side one wall. "I thought I'd use that place. Is that a good idea?"
"Is it empty?" Louis asked. François looked at the house, and listened intently.
"I don't hear anyone," he said.
"That will do well," Louis nodded. "You see, Armand?" he said, as François hefted the body and leaped the broken fence, disappearing inside the small jungle. "He knows what to do."
"Very impressive, Louis," Armand admitted. "And how fortunate that it is one of your old houses."
"Sheer coincidence, Armand. I haven't used it for years, I sold it some time ago," Louis shrugged. "François had no way of knowing that, at any rate. He simply found his prey, and acted accordingly. I think he used very good judgment."
"Yes, he did," Armand nodded. "He is very quick and clean about it. I could not have taught him better myself."
François reappeared, wading through the weeds. "Well, those are the rules," he said, jumping the fence to land lightly beside them. "All done, Louis. I put her in that car back there."
"Very good, François," Louis said, handing him back the money and other things. "Now, you must dispose of these as well, you know."
"Yeah, I know," François said, shoving the bills into his pocket. "Your turn now, Louis."
They began walking again, pausing only long enough for François to drop the identification into a storm drain. They had come to the area known as the Channel, and were strolling along, perusing various antique store windows like any tourist. Suddenly, Louis held up a hand, motioning for them to remain where they were. In a flash, he had disappeared down an alley, into the night.
"Hey, where you going?" François called. Armand quickly put a hand over his mouth.
"Hush, Little One," he said, pulling François back into the shadows beside a large paneled truck. "Just because you don't see any mortals, doesn't mean they cannot hear you." He pointed to the shops across the street, their upper windows dimly lit from within. "Listen, Francesco, use your vampire senses as Louis has taught you."
François froze, and listened, his eyes growing wide. "I forgot," he whispered. "Oh my God, what if they heard me? We have to get out of here!" He turned to flee, but Armand grabbed his arm.
"Oh, relax," Armand laughed. "I was only warning you. Those fools inside are so accustomed to hearing gunshots out here, they hardly noticed your voice."
"You can let go of my arm now," François said, rolling his eyes. "I want to go find Louis." He turned to follow after Louis, but Armand still held tightly to his arm.
"But Louis doesn't want you to find him," Armand replied calmly. "He doesn't like others to watch him hunt."
"He always lets me watch," François protested, trying to break the steely grip on his arm, to no avail.
"He's had you for what? Two nights?" Armand laughed again, and pulled François into a loose embrace. "That's hardly 'always' even for one as young as you."
"Oh, yeah, like you're so old," François said, giving up his struggle. "You can let go now, I won't follow him. I promise."
Armand laughed again, and released him from the embrace. "I only look young, surely you know that. Louis told me you've read all those silly books."
"I wasn't talking about looks," François laughed, punching Armand on the shoulder. "That's for before."
"So, you have some fight in you," Armand commented, as they began strolling back toward the Garden District. "That's good. I was worried."
"Worried about me?" François asked. "Why? Louis is taking care of me. Don't you trust him?"
"You still need to be strong on your own," Armand replied. "You can't rely upon others for your survival. You have to be able to take care of yourself."
"Tell me something I don't know," François muttered. "Like I ain't been doing that all my life already."
"Really?" Armand looked at him thoughtfully. "Louis has told us nothing about your mortal life."
"I didn't tell him much." They came up on a house with a large yard, surrounded by an iron fence. François picked up a fallen branch, and rattled it along the fence.
Armand picked up another stick and did the same, surprised at how satisfying it felt. When was the last time he'd done anything so utterly juvenile and frivolous? It must have been centuries. He wondered why he had not thought of it before. "Why not? Why haven't you told Louis anything?"
"He didn't ask," François shrugged. He looked to his left and his right, and stepped into the street.
"I'm asking," Armand said, putting a hand on François's shoulder.
"Why?" François stepped back onto the banquette, and looked up at him, puzzled. "What do you want to know about me for?"
"Because I like you," Armand smiled. "I want to know you. I want to know all about you."
"You want me to tell you about being a kid now, you mean," François grinned. "I remember what you told Daniel."
"I am perfectly comfortable in this decade, thank you," Armand laughed.
"Yeah, well, I just bet," François laughed, too.
They continued walking, and Armand companionably slipped an arm around François's shoulders. François hesitated for a moment, and then did the same.
"Please, tell me," Armand asked seriously. He was slightly taller than François, but not much, and had dressed in fairly ordinary clothes that evening. To the casual observer, they could have been any two teenagers, out for the evening; all they needed was a six-pack to complete the picture. Armand thought it would be very pleasant to not be the youngest-looking of the coven any more. He kept this little perk to himself, however. "I want to know you better. That's all, I swear."
"Okay," François sighed. "What do you want to know?"
"Everything."
"You don't want much, do you?"
"You know almost everything about me, don't you?" Armand asked, smiling. "All the important things, anyway. That's all I want, I want to know how you came to be here, walking with me."
"I don't know where to start," François complained.
"Tell me where you were born, where you grew up," Armand suggested. They had come to St. Charles Avenue, and he dropped onto a bench outside a restaurant. "We'll wait here for Louis, he won't be much longer, and he'll have to pass this way, or near it. I'll know when he's near."
"Okay." François sat beside him, pulling one foot up under the opposite knee and swinging the other foot back and forth. "I was born here, in New Orleans. I grew up over around Rampart. The Projects."
"I see," said Armand. "Not the best place to live, from what I've seen."
'It sucked," François agreed. "I lived with my old lady, my mom, you know." Armand nodded. "No dad around. Hell, I don't think she knows who he was. She had boyfriends that lived with us sometimes, one guy for a few years, I thought maybe he was my dad, but he wasn't. He made a huge point of telling me that. Called me 'Little Bastard' all the time. Thought it was a huge joke."
"You never knew your father, and now you don't know your maker," Armand said, not unkindly. "That is not a happy situation, is it, Little One?"
"I guess not," François shrugged. "It wasn't like I was the only kid with no dad."
"There is more, isn't there?" Armand asked. "Your mother, you don't think much of her, do you?'
"She was a whore," François said, very matter of fact. "It was what she did. I mean, she worked at a bar sometimes, or did fortunes in Jackson Square, but those never lasted long." He turned, and looked deep into Armand's eyes. "I don't think she knew what to do with a kid. One time she told me, she only had me 'cause she didn't have the money for an abortion. Sometimes, I think she only kept me for the ADC money."
"Was she kind to you?" Armand reached over, and brushed away a tear from François's face.
"Sometimes," François sniffed, and rubbed his wrist across his eyes. "Sometimes, she'd buy me stuff, for no reason. But, mostly not. She'd get real mad at me for stuff. Like, if I didn't wake her up for her TV shows, or if I got any kind of letter from school, she'd go ballistic." He smiled bitterly. "That was when she'd buy me stuff. She'd beat the hell out of me if she couldn't find her cigarettes, and then next morning she'd come home with her take, and we'd go to Wal-Mart and she'd buy me stuff. She bought me a Nintendo once, but one of her boyfriends took it when he dumped her."
"Dio," Armand whispered. "Yet, you survived, Little One. You are very strong, your spirit is strong."
"Yeah, I guess so," François admitted. "I learned real quick to just stay away as much as possible."
"You lived on the streets?" A car approached, and slowed; Armand sent a silent warning, and it sped off.
"Sometimes, but only really for the last couple of months," François leaned back against the bench, and stretched. "I used to go to the library a lot, or somebody else's house, if I was lucky I could get supper that way. During Mardi Gras, I could always make some cash off the tourists, and that would keep her happy, if I could give her money. And she wasn't home much then, either." He lapsed into silence.
"How did you come to be Born to Darkness?" Armand asked quietly. "I know Louis has said, you don't remember much."
"No, I don't know much. I hate it, not knowing. It's worse than not having a dad. It's like, part of me is just gone, part of my life, it's just not there." François looked to Armand, searching his perfect features as if he could read the answer there. "When you don't know something, it's awful."
"I understand, perhaps better than you know," Armand said, gently. "Maybe I can help you. Tell me what you do recall."
Foster Fledgling - Chapter Eleven
E-Mail the Author
