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Chapter Forty-seven: Hunger Pains

"I no doubt deserved my enemies, but I don't believe I deserved my friends."

The room was dark, windowless, and set far below the ground. The air within was dank and stifling. But its inhabitant had no need to breath. There was the faintest taste of old blood in the stagnant air, but that was quickly dispersed when the heavy iron door was pushed open from the outside.

The room's inhabitant opened one eye to glance at the door. There was the flash of a lighter's flame and then the only source of light within the room was the orange glow of the end of a cigarette.

"Bonsoir, monsieur Rafe."

"Evening, vampire," Rafe replied. "Sleep well?"

"Like the dead, monsieur," Janesch said with a smirk, "as usual." He held out the pack in his hand, "Voulez celui?"

"No thanks," Rafe said, waving a hand. He held up an envelope. "This just arrived for you," he said, arching an eyebrow. "You're going to end up pissing the Dark Lord off, you know. Still chasing after his Wraith?"

"Balourd," Janesch said lightly. "I'm not chasing anyone. The girl is a friend. She needed a friend." He gestured for the letter. "Give it here, wolf, and none of your teasing."

Rafe gave a barking laugh and handed the letter over. "Don't overstep yourself and get yourself killed, vampire," Rafe said, "I'm just starting to get used to you."

"Merci, Rafe," Janesch said, turning his attention to the letter. Rafe rolled his eyes to the stone ceiling and left the room.

Janesch,

I'm writing as promised, but I don't think it's a good idea for me to see you again so soon. The Dark Lord is…rather angry with me at the moment. Thank you for last night. I think I owe you my continued sanity, damaged as it is anyway. I'll write again tomorrow.

Wraith

Janesch drew a drag from the cigarette, a dark mood overcoming him. Ah, ma petite, he thought bitterly. He stood, adding the letter to the pile in a desk drawer. You're not going to be happy with me about this.

With a sigh, he left the darkness of his room and sanctuary to venture out into the night. Let the wolves think he'd gone to see Wraith again. It was probably best that they didn't know where he was going anyhow.

It took him a moment longer than it should have to realize that he was no longer alone in the room. Voldemort turned swiftly, his wand on the figure lounging against the doorframe.

"Bonsoir," Janesch said, his face unusually grave. "Please forgive the intrusion, Dark Lord."

"Tell me why I shouldn't kill you where you stand."

Janesch shrugged. "I have no good answer for you," he admitted, "Other than the fact that it would upset your Wraith. But as devoted as she is to you, she would no doubt get over it."

Curious, Voldemort lowered his wand. "Does my Wraith know you're here?"

"She does not," Janesch replied. "It is for the best that she does not." He pushed away from the doorframe and took several steps into the room. "Wraith has likely told you that it was to me she ran last night. She did not speak of what had upset her, but…judging from the scent of fresh blood downstairs, I believe that I can guess."

"Can you?"

"Your Wraith does not like torture, does she?" Janesch asked, not expecting an answer. "I saw that the night I met her."

Voldemort did not reply, but sat behind his desk, watching the vampire with an inquiring eye. "Why are you here?" he asked slowly.

"I came to speak to you of Wraith, to…discuss several things I have noticed. Your Wraith is an odd mixture of strength and fragility, Dark Lord. I come not to speak of her strength, but her weakness."

"Weakness?"

"To be more specific; her fear of touch."

Something flashed in the Dark Lord's eyes, an edge of irritation and frustration that Janesch read clearly if only for that moment.

"Now, she grows more comfortable with it over time. She seems to trust me enough not to flinch from me. And I've never seen her avoid your hand. But with me and, perhaps even with you, she has limits. Wraith has told me only a little of her past," Janesch continued. "But what I know is that she spent most of her life in Azkaban, awaiting your return, under the care of her 'Watcher'."

"She's told you more than she's told most others," Voldemort said, his eyes narrowing.

"She doesn't have many to really talk to. Unless I'm mistaken, Dark Lord, you and I are it." The vampire shrugged lightly.

"Get to the point, vampire. You are wasting my time."

"Very well," Janesch said. "Her dislike and discomfort of being touched must stem from something. She does not speak the words, and she is careful not to call him by name, but I've read between the lines. Your Wraith has an extreme…aversion to one Dominic Gavin." Janesch approached the desk and leaned his hands upon the surface. "I wondered if it had occurred to you that the two might be related."

A silence fell, the words hanging in the air between them.

Finally, Voldemort spoke, "You suggest––"

"I do more than suggest. I accuse." Janesch swallowed the growl in his throat and continued. "There are lines which you do not cross, even in a world such as ours. I believe that your Gavin has left several in his wake."

Voldemort sat back in his chair, one hand resting over his mouth as he thought.

"I do not care for Gavin, my Lord. I would prefer it if he left me alone."

"If you are angry with him for placing you in Azkaban…"

"No, my Lord, I know he did that on your orders. I do not begrudge that to either of you. How could I? Still…I'd appreciate it if he would keep his distance."

"What do you begrudge him, my Wraith?"

"Why wouldn't she tell me then?" he murmured, more to himself than to Janesch. "Why not tell me now?"

"Fear, my Lord," Janesch spoke softly. "You are, if I may so, an impossible man to predict. Perhaps she feared that after the telling, you would not value her as highly as you do now. She told me of the plans to marry her off. It could be that she fears you would give her to Gavin, since he had already had the taste of her."

"And tell me, vampire," Voldemort said, "what if Gavin hasn't crossed that line? What if you are wrong?"

"I very well may be," Janesch admitted. "I doubt it, but I may be." He sighed and straightened. "I can't believe I'm saying this, but––Your Wraith will not speak of it willingly––Back her into a corner and trap him as well. Make her confront him. Make him confess."

Again, Voldemort was silent, considering the words. "Why does this concern you?" he demanded.

"I like her," Janesch said simply. "She makes things interesting. I came to you about this because you are her world. You are her god. She needs you. She needs to know that you will stand for her––if only because she belongs to you."

Voldemort breathed deeply and then stood. "Get out," he said. "I will think on what you have said, but get out."

Janesch bowed low and turned for the door. At the threshold, he paused, glancing back.

"She's hungry for affection, your Wraith," he said. "Be patient, Dark Lord…and she'll be anything you want her to be."

On those words, Janesch disappeared through the door before Voldemort could react to them.

"You called for me, my Lord?"

"Yes," Voldemort said, looking from the fire to where Gavin stood. "I have a proposition for you, Gavin. One might consider a reward for your services regarding my Wraith."

Voldemort watched the dark light appear in Gavin's eyes, but also sensed the man's hesitance.

"I have spoken to my Wraith about the continuation of her bloodline. You would be the most obvious choice to serve as a husband…and father."

"M-my Lord," Gavin said, his eyes wide. "T'would be an honor to be so considered. I would be proud."

"I've no doubt," Voldemort said darkly. "But I speak, of course, of the future. My Wraith is useful where she is, and young yet."

"Of course, my Lord."

"She does not like you, Gavin," the Dark Lord reminded the man. "Fix that…and we see about the future." He gestured to the door, silently dismissing him.

Gavin gave his Lord a deep bow as he backed away from him and towards the door.

Voldemort watched the man go from the corner of his eye…and wondered.

Description
Chapter Forty-seven: Hunger Pains

"I no doubt deserved my enemies, but I don't believe I deserved my friends."

The room was dark, windowless, and set far below the ground. The air within was dank and stifling. But its inhabitant had no need to breath. There was the faintest taste of old blood in the stagnant air, but that was quickly dispersed when the heavy iron door was pushed open from the outside.

The room's inhabitant opened one eye to glance at the door. There was the flash of a lighter's flame and then the only source of light within the room was the orange glow of the end of a cigarette.

"Bonsoir, monsieur Rafe."

"Evening, vampire," Rafe replied. "Sleep well?"

"Like the dead, monsieur," Janesch said with a smirk, "as usual." He held out the pack in his hand, "Voulez celui?"

"No thanks," Rafe said, waving a hand. He held up an envelope. "This just arrived for you," he said, arching an eyebrow. "You're going to end up pissing the Dark Lord off, you know. Still chasing after his Wraith?"

"Balourd," Janesch said lightly. "I'm not chasing anyone. The girl is a friend. She needed a friend." He gestured for the letter. "Give it here, wolf, and none of your teasing."

Rafe gave a barking laugh and handed the letter over. "Don't overstep yourself and get yourself killed, vampire," Rafe said, "I'm just starting to get used to you."

"Merci, Rafe," Janesch said, turning his attention to the letter. Rafe rolled his eyes to the stone ceiling and left the room.

Janesch,

I'm writing as promised, but I don't think it's a good idea for me to see you again so soon. The Dark Lord is…rather angry with me at the moment. Thank you for last night. I think I owe you my continued sanity, damaged as it is anyway. I'll write again tomorrow.

Wraith

Janesch drew a drag from the cigarette, a dark mood overcoming him. Ah, ma petite, he thought bitterly. He stood, adding the letter to the pile in a desk drawer. You're not going to be happy with me about this.

With a sigh, he left the darkness of his room and sanctuary to venture out into the night. Let the wolves think he'd gone to see Wraith again. It was probably best that they didn't know where he was going anyhow.

It took him a moment longer than it should have to realize that he was no longer alone in the room. Voldemort turned swiftly, his wand on the figure lounging against the doorframe.

"Bonsoir," Janesch said, his face unusually grave. "Please forgive the intrusion, Dark Lord."

"Tell me why I shouldn't kill you where you stand."

Janesch shrugged. "I have no good answer for you," he admitted, "Other than the fact that it would upset your Wraith. But as devoted as she is to you, she would no doubt get over it."

Curious, Voldemort lowered his wand. "Does my Wraith know you're here?"

"She does not," Janesch replied. "It is for the best that she does not." He pushed away from the doorframe and took several steps into the room. "Wraith has likely told you that it was to me she ran last night. She did not speak of what had upset her, but…judging from the scent of fresh blood downstairs, I believe that I can guess."

"Can you?"

"Your Wraith does not like torture, does she?" Janesch asked, not expecting an answer. "I saw that the night I met her."

Voldemort did not reply, but sat behind his desk, watching the vampire with an inquiring eye. "Why are you here?" he asked slowly.

"I came to speak to you of Wraith, to…discuss several things I have noticed. Your Wraith is an odd mixture of strength and fragility, Dark Lord. I come not to speak of her strength, but her weakness."

"Weakness?"

"To be more specific; her fear of touch."

Something flashed in the Dark Lord's eyes, an edge of irritation and frustration that Janesch read clearly if only for that moment.

"Now, she grows more comfortable with it over time. She seems to trust me enough not to flinch from me. And I've never seen her avoid your hand. But with me and, perhaps even with you, she has limits. Wraith has told me only a little of her past," Janesch continued. "But what I know is that she spent most of her life in Azkaban, awaiting your return, under the care of her 'Watcher'."

"She's told you more than she's told most others," Voldemort said, his eyes narrowing.

"She doesn't have many to really talk to. Unless I'm mistaken, Dark Lord, you and I are it." The vampire shrugged lightly.

"Get to the point, vampire. You are wasting my time."

"Very well," Janesch said. "Her dislike and discomfort of being touched must stem from something. She does not speak the words, and she is careful not to call him by name, but I've read between the lines. Your Wraith has an extreme…aversion to one Dominic Gavin." Janesch approached the desk and leaned his hands upon the surface. "I wondered if it had occurred to you that the two might be related."

A silence fell, the words hanging in the air between them.

Finally, Voldemort spoke, "You suggest––"

"I do more than suggest. I accuse." Janesch swallowed the growl in his throat and continued. "There are lines which you do not cross, even in a world such as ours. I believe that your Gavin has left several in his wake."

Voldemort sat back in his chair, one hand resting over his mouth as he thought.

"I do not care for Gavin, my Lord. I would prefer it if he left me alone."

"If you are angry with him for placing you in Azkaban…"

"No, my Lord, I know he did that on your orders. I do not begrudge that to either of you. How could I? Still…I'd appreciate it if he would keep his distance."

"What do you begrudge him, my Wraith?"

"Why wouldn't she tell me then?" he murmured, more to himself than to Janesch. "Why not tell me now?"

"Fear, my Lord," Janesch spoke softly. "You are, if I may so, an impossible man to predict. Perhaps she feared that after the telling, you would not value her as highly as you do now. She told me of the plans to marry her off. It could be that she fears you would give her to Gavin, since he had already had the taste of her."

"And tell me, vampire," Voldemort said, "what if Gavin hasn't crossed that line? What if you are wrong?"

"I very well may be," Janesch admitted. "I doubt it, but I may be." He sighed and straightened. "I can't believe I'm saying this, but––Your Wraith will not speak of it willingly––Back her into a corner and trap him as well. Make her confront him. Make him confess."

Again, Voldemort was silent, considering the words. "Why does this concern you?" he demanded.

"I like her," Janesch said simply. "She makes things interesting. I came to you about this because you are her world. You are her god. She needs you. She needs to know that you will stand for her––if only because she belongs to you."

Voldemort breathed deeply and then stood. "Get out," he said. "I will think on what you have said, but get out."

Janesch bowed low and turned for the door. At the threshold, he paused, glancing back.

"She's hungry for affection, your Wraith," he said. "Be patient, Dark Lord…and she'll be anything you want her to be."

On those words, Janesch disappeared through the door before Voldemort could react to them.

"You called for me, my Lord?"

"Yes," Voldemort said, looking from the fire to where Gavin stood. "I have a proposition for you, Gavin. One might consider a reward for your services regarding my Wraith."

Voldemort watched the dark light appear in Gavin's eyes, but also sensed the man's hesitance.

"I have spoken to my Wraith about the continuation of her bloodline. You would be the most obvious choice to serve as a husband…and father."

"M-my Lord," Gavin said, his eyes wide. "T'would be an honor to be so considered. I would be proud."

"I've no doubt," Voldemort said darkly. "But I speak, of course, of the future. My Wraith is useful where she is, and young yet."

"Of course, my Lord."

"She does not like you, Gavin," the Dark Lord reminded the man. "Fix that…and we see about the future." He gestured to the door, silently dismissing him.

Gavin gave his Lord a deep bow as he backed away from him and towards the door.

Voldemort watched the man go from the corner of his eye…and wondered.