Foster Fledgling
Chapter Sixteen
The interior of the house was one of the strangest things François had ever seen. It seemed to be a series of large open spaces, something like a museum, with very little in the way of normal furniture. There were a great many statues spaced at regular intervals, life size figures of every description, mostly of stone or marble, and right in the middle of the room was one figure of a girl, pouring water from a pot into a large pool. There were plants everywhere, too, more even than Louis had in the big glassed-in room in the townhouse; there were even small trees in huge boxes, some of them with tiny fruits on them.
For the space being so devoid of the normal trappings of a home, it was not at all cavernous or cold, but rather inviting and warm. There were furnishings, bench-like low couches and comfortable-looking chairs with an abundance of plump cushions and pillows, and here and there small, low tables piled with magazines and books. More amazing than the unusual furnishings, though, were the paintings. Paintings were everywhere he looked. The walls were hung with paintings of all sizes, some as big as the entire wall, and where there was no framed painting, the very walls were painted with scenes, like the ceiling of the cathedral downtown, only these pictures were much prettier to François's eyes.
And the light! The room was filled with warm, amber light, from the hundreds of candles burning everywhere he looked. There were more candles than a church at Christmas Mass, giving off that rich, comforting scent unique to beeswax. There was carved wood like a church, too, on doorways and along the ceiling; François very nearly genuflected. The floor was laid with carpets, not just rugs, or the wall-to-wall shag he'd seen in apartments before, but real carpets, like in Aladdin, like flying carpets; dozens of big, soft carpets, with elaborate patterns, predominantly red but with every shade of the rainbow represented.
François stood and stared, until he felt a hand on his chin.
"Chairman, you trying to catch flies?" Daniel laughed, and threw an arm around François's shoulders, giving him a quick hug.
"Sorry," François ducked his head, grinning sheepishly. "I ain't never seen anything so pretty before, that's all."
"Thank you, Young One," Marius said, stepping from behind a red velvet curtain to the right. "It's good to know that some of the younger generations appreciate beauty." He raised an eyebrow at Daniel. "Unlike some I might name."
"Look, Granddad," Daniel laughed, taking his coat off and handing it to a servant that appeared out of nowhere. "I never said I didn't like it. I think it looks great. I just call them as I see them, and this place looks like a whorehouse."
François shot Daniel a quick, hurt look, but was distracted by a servant who suddenly appeared next to him as well, and took his coat. "Thanks," he said absently, watching as the servant disappeared into one of the curtained doorways.
"Do not call me Granddad," Marius scowled, but his tone was not unkind. "And I will thank you not to refer to my home as a house of ill repute."
"Hey, I meant the best kind of whorehouse."
"Please do not use that term, Daniel," Marius said, noticing François's reaction. He sent Daniel a warning thought, You are upsetting the child. Don't you know his past? Daniel swallowed hard, and nodded.
Marius raised one eyebrow, and turned his attention to François. "Last night was a bit too hectic for proper introductions. Perhaps, we should try again?" He smiled. "I am Marius, and I'm honored to welcome you to my home." He patted the boy's shoulder.
"Thanks," François said, pleased with himself that he did not flinch from the friendly gesture. "It's very nice. I like the pictures." He pointed to the paintings along the walls. "Did you paint all of these?"
"Some of them," Marius smiled. "Some are by . . . friends of mine. Do you enjoy paintings?"
"Don't know," François shrugged. "I haven't seen a whole lot of stuff, I mean, not like this. In school one time, we were supposed to go to the art museum, but I didn't get to go." He chewed his lip, thinking, then brightened. "I like comic books. Does that count?"
"Yes, I believe it would," Marius nodded. "I have seen some of these," he shot a warm glance toward Daniel, "and while it is not my forte, it was impressive."
"Sure, Chairman," Daniel walked over to a low couch, and dropped onto it. "Not everything has to be in a frame."
"Can I look at some of these?" François asked, walking over toward one wall.
"Of course," Marius replied, joining him. "That's why I have them here, to be enjoyed."
"Don't let him fool you," Armand stood directly behind them. "He has them here solely to stroke his own ego."
"Armand!" François whirled around, grinning a welcome. "I wondered where you were."
"Amadeo, I have told you about that before," Marius said, his tone implying a warning that was contradicted by the warmth in his eyes.
"Just tending to some business," Armand gave his maker a small smirk, and accepted François's quick embrace. "Did Daniel feed you well?"
"Of course I did, Boss," Daniel said. "What, you think I'd let the kid starve?" He made a face. Armand went to him, and dropped into his lap.
"I never know when you're going to wander off by yourself, disappear for months." He ran a hand through Daniel's hair, and kissed him.
"Oh, for God's sake, will you let that drop?" Daniel rolled his eyes, but returned the affection with equal fervor. Armand lingered in the kiss for a moment, and then pulled away, his lips crimson, as were Daniel's. Their eyes met, speaking volumes in silence; mere words would have been extraneous.
With one final kiss, Armand stood, and returned to François's side. "Caro, where did you get that . . . thing?" he asked, peering at the cap François wore.
"Daniel got it for me."
"Very attractive." Marius made an effort to keep a straight face.
"We got some extras," François grinned, and took off his hat, placing it on Armand. "Do you want one, Marius?"
"Er, no, thank you," Marius allowed himself a small smile at the sight of his fledgling bedecked with a vivid green and yellow baseball cap. "Hats do not suit me, I'm afraid."
"It's you, Boss," Daniel laughed.
Armand ignored the jibes, and turned the hat backwards. "Ignore these plebeians," he emphasized the word, shooting a look at Marius. "They have no taste. Thank you, François, I'll treasure it always." He leaned over and lightly kissed the boy. "But, tell me, caro, how did you get so filthy?" He ran a finger along François's lapels. "You were much neater last night."
"Sorry," François brushed ineffectually at the grime and bloodstains. "She tried to get away, and I kind of tripped." He shook his head. "Louis is gonna be mad, this is new."
"I told you not to sweat it, kid," Daniel said, swinging his feet up to stretch out on the couch. "It's only clothes."
"No, don't concern yourself with that, Young One." Marius pointed at the heavy work boots Daniel wore; Daniel coughed, and quickly came to his feet, walking over to join them. Marius gave him a curt nod, and then turned his attention back to François. "It really doesn't matter. These things are nothing to us."
"It was just an accident," François said, taking off the suit jacket, and examining it ruefully. He held up his hands. "Cut my hands pretty bad, but look! It's all gone, except for the mud."
"We heal very quickly," Armand agreed, taking hold of the proffered hands to look at them closely. "Unfortunately, a vampire nature has no effect on clothing. You would draw attention like this."
"What do you mean?" François asked. "You mean, that guy that took my, I mean, your jacket?"
He looked back toward the curtained doorway where the servant had disappeared.
"Oh, no," Marius laughed. "My staff is quite accustomed to such things. They are extremely well paid for their discretion."
"Well, we were kind of planning on taking the kid out tonight," Daniel said, rubbing the back of his head. "Go to a movie or something."
"Or something," Armand repeated absently, still holding François's hands. He reached up, and brushed the hair away from the boy's face. "Your hair is much longer tonight, too."
"Nobody cut it for me," François replied, meeting Armand's eyes.
"I could do that for you, if you like," Armand said softly. François nodded, but didn't pull away from gazing into those brown eyes.
Marius watched Armand thoughtfully. He looked to Daniel, who seemed to be overly occupied with examining a painting that he'd always claimed to hate. Marius looked from one to the other, and came to a decision.
"Well, François," he said, a bit too loudly. "Perhaps you'd like to wash up a bit? And I'm sure we can find something for you to wear."
"Okay," François murmured. "Whatever you want."
"Come along, Caro," Armand said, leading him toward the back of the great room. "It's this way."
"I think Daniel can show him the way," Marius said sharply. Daniel froze. "Amadeo, I need to speak with you privately."
Armand turned to face his maker, and their eyes met. He sighed, and let go of François. "Very well. Daniel, if you can pull yourself away?"
"Um, sure," Daniel crossed the room quickly, and took François by the arm. "It's back here, Chairman," he said, casting a glance back at Marius, who stood scowling, his arms crossed.
"Now, Daniel, if you please. We do not have all night."
"Sure. I'm going right now." Daniel pulled François along quickly. "I'll find him some stuff to wear, too. Come on, kid."
Marius continued to glare after them, until they disappeared behind a solid oak door. He then turned his attention to his fledgling.
"Amadeo, we must talk."
"Of course, Padrone." Armand strolled over to another painting, and stood, perusing it, his head tilted to one side. "You are displeased with Daniel again?"
"Daniel and I have an understanding," Marius replied. "He tries to irritate me, and I permit him to think that he has."
"Oh." Silence. Armand moved to another canvas. "You do not care for Lestat's latest child, then?" he asked, after a long moment.
"François is a very pleasant young man."
Silence again.
"The servants, then?"
"No."
Silence. Another long moment. Armand moved to the next canvas.
"Ah." He turned around, then, and walked over to his maker. He reached up, and put his arms around Marius's neck, and kissed him. "Then, I suppose you must be displeased with me." Another kiss. "Why?"
"You want that boy, Amadeo."
"Do I?"
"Don't play these games." Marius grabbed the silly hat, tossing it aside. He ran his hands through the auburn curls, cut short and modern tonight.
"Very well," Armand sighed, and leaned into the embrace. "What if I do?"
"It is not your decision to make." Marius wrapped his arms around Armand, holding him tightly. "You are neither his maker nor his protector."
"Hah!" Armand pulled away, and walked over to a low divan, sitting on the back. "His maker is mad, and his 'father' is in denial."
"That is irrelevant," Marius replied, following him. "It is still their decision, not yours."
"François is old enough to decide for himself. And from the way he responds to me, he wants it." He threw an accusing glare at his maker. "I was much the same age as he when you first gave me your immortal kisses."
"He is far more a child than ever you were, Ragazzo," Marius replied mildly, refusing to be baited into that old argument. "Despite the burdens his life has given him, he has not lost his innocence."
"He's no babe in arms, Maestro," Armand said, in the way one might speak to an addled child. "His mother is a common whore, he's seen her with her men, more than once. I saw it in his mind." He smirked. "He knows where babies come from."
The hand flew out, faster than even immortal eyes could follow. "Do not patronize me, boy!" Marius's eyes flared icy fire. "This is not Les Innocents and I am not some mindless fledgling under your thrall. Do not forget who is master in this house!"
"My apologies, Padrone," Armand lowered his tear-stung eyes, his cheek burning as much with anger and shame as with the slap. "I forgot myself. Forgive me."
"That's better." Marius took a deep breath, and another. He waited a moment, composing himself. "Yes, I know of his past, I saw as much in his mind myself. But despite this, it has not touched his soul. He is an innocent. Louis recognizes this."
"Louis recognizes nothing. He is as blind now as he's always been." Armand stood, and paced around the room.
"Louis is a sentimentalist, I will give you that," Marius replied. "But, I think you're wrong. He does have instincts. And I believe he is exactly what François needs."
"He wants to keep him a child forever, you realize," Armand said bitterly. "Louis needs a child, someone weaker than himself."
"I don't think so," Marius tilted his head back, the ancient Mediterranean no. "In many way, yes, Louis is the weakest among us. He doesn't have the powers of your young one, and scarcely uses the meager few he does have. Yet, he does have his strengths."
"He certainly has a high tolerance for putting up with Lestat," Armand agreed dryly.
"Perhaps." Marius smiled, and reached out as Armand passed, taking his hand and drawing him close. "But I was speaking of his capacity to study, to analyze, to look at all sides of a problem."
"His inability to act, you mean," Armand said, allowing himself to be held closely.
"No, I mean his ability to make thoughtful decisions." He kissed the fiery hand mark. "Unlike his maker, Louis learns from his mistakes."
"Hah!" Armand shook his head. "There I have you, Padrone. He has not learned a thing from experience. He is making the same mistake as with Claudia."
"That had already occurred to me," Marius admitted. "But he told me of his concern for this, before I could mention it. He is determined to do the right thing this time. He has no desire to suffer the alienation, the bitterness, the pain of abandonment."
"He said these things to you?" Armand asked, surprised.
"Not exactly," Marius laughed lightly, embarrassed. "But he did say, he had a plan, and that when the child was mature enough, he would be free to make his own decisions."
"Do you truly think that Louis is strong enough to resist the temptation?" Armand pressed his face against the red softness of his maker's shirt, feeling the coolness of the silk against the still warm mark on his cheek.
Marius folded his child into his arms. "Yes, I do." He kissed him gently. "He denies his hunger, every night. I think he can do this, yes." He laughed, and ruffled the auburn curls. "And as you say, he can tolerate Lestat far better than the rest of us."
"As you say, Padrone," Armand murmured.
"We're back," François called, as he pushed open the heavy oak door, Daniel close behind him.
"Good," Marius gave Armand a final kiss, and strode across the atrium to join them. "You look much more presentable. Do you feel better?"
"Yeah," François nodded. He had traded the ruined suit for a more customary ensemble of jeans and a sweatshirt. "These fit me okay."
"Excellent taste," Armand commented. "But of course, they are mine." He smiled, the last traces of the slap faded.
"Chairman wants to go to a movie," Daniel said, grabbing up a newspaper from a low table. "I told him that would be okay." Armand went to his side, taking another paper to look as well.
"Good idea," Marius said, glancing at his watch. "I should be at St. Elizabeth's now, I promised David a game of chess, and Louis must certainly need a break as well."
"Am I gonna see Louis tonight?" François asked anxiously. "I ain't seen him since last night."
"I expect so, Young One," Marius replied, kindly. "You'll be back by midnight, I should think. I know he wants to see you."
"I miss him," François sighed, his lip quivering just slightly.
"He misses you, too, Caro," Armand said, tossing down the paper. "Don't worry, you'll see him soon enough."
"Good night, then, gentlemen," Marius said, disappearing into one of the curtained doorways. "Amadeo, please see that the locks are set."
"Okay, well, let's go," Daniel said, clapping François and Armand on the back.
Foster Fledgling - Chapter Seventeen
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