CHAPTER 6

In a small loft apartment in Monmartre, Maurice Desjardins
was just getting out of the shower. Towelling off, he smiled
at his reflection in the mirror. Tonight would be a special
evening, perhaps change his life!

After shaving, he dressed in a black pullover t-shirt and jeans and entered his small living room. The room was furnished simply; one table, two plastic chairs and a futon sofa that converted to a bed. Maurice smiled, the futon was seldom made up as a sofa; he was pleased at the little extra space that he was granted.

Maurice had bought a small bouquet of mixed flowers and they sat in a used wine bottle on the table in front of the sofa. Directly across from the sofa was a small wall unit that he had found in the trash outside the building next door. Although made of plywood and somewhat rickety, it was strong enough to hold a small television and CD player. Maurice seldom watched television, except for football, but his CD player was always playing.

He had a passion for two things, opera and his painting. Softly playing in the background was Wagner`s romantic masterpiece, “Tristan und Isolde”. The prelude to Act 1 was so soothing, something that he needed to calm his nerves. Maurice looked out of his loft window at the streets of Monmartre, then turned his attention to the walls of his living room. Every inch of the walls was covered with his paintings.

Above the wall unit were his still lifes; fruit, flowers, vases in abundance. The works were rudimentary, following the style of Cezanne, and were his first attempts at capturing the riot of colors that he had seen in his mind`s eye as long as he could remember.

Maurice then glanced to his left. On the wall leading to the kitchen, and overflowing above the refrigerator were his landscapes. In this second stage of his artistic growth he was a slave to Monet; floral scenes, lily ponds, buildings; all were fashioned after the great Maestro. And yet, as he saw his later landscapes, the use of impasto brush strokes so extravagant, so expensive, he could begin to see his true soul emerging. Impressions became mere brushstrokes of color, shaping became geometric. This continued to excite him, just looking at his emergence.

Maurice poured himself a glass of cheap burgundy and reflected on his personal journey through the French Impressionist movement onward. It made so much sense to him, the logic that finally extended to his latest works.

Sipping his wine, he returned to the living room, studying the paintings above his sofa. Four large canvasses, the only paintings of his that were framed. Bursts of color, thick impasto strokes; all reality, all geometry gone! Ah, but to him, the beauty, the glimpse of his soul that emerged.

It is with these paintings that he hopes to impress the woman that he had met at the opera the previous evening. During the first intermission of Verdi`s “Rigoletto” he had descended from the cheap student seats to have a cigarette and a glass of wine. At the serving bar a young woman of obvious wealth had asked him for a light for her cigarette.

They had struck up a conversation about the opera, which led to books and art, and Maurice shared with her his dreams. The young woman introduced herself as the Countess Mondra Czermintek and stated that she was a patroness of the arts and would like to see his paintings.

When Maurice enthusiastically agreed, the Countess insisted on one condition, that Maurice tell no one of their meeting until she had the chance to see his paintings. Maurice accepted and a viewing time was set for the following evening.

So it is; here stands Maurice in his apartment, staring at his paintings, sipping his wine. He smiles and thinks to himself, “Ah, this evening will change my life!”

Maurice walked over to the CD player and selected the new Coldplay CD to play. He was very excited about their new music, the emergence of the lead guitarist. It seems as if marriage had loosened Chris Martin`s control of the group. Though still piano driven, the addition of U2 like guitar riffs had opened up their music.
As he started the CD player, he was startled to hear a knocking at his door. He rushed to the window to check for a limousine, but there were only the usual Fiats and Renaults, along with the many mini scooters favored in this student neighborhood.

Maurice crossed the room and opened the door. Countess Mondra stood at the doorway, smiling. "Good evening, Maurice. Aren`t you going to invite me in?"

Flustered, Maurice took two paces back and gestured an invitation. "Countess, it`s a pleasure to see you. I didn`t hear your limo pull up! Please, may I offer you some wine?"

"Thank you, Maurice. I seldom drink.....wine, but if you would do the honors, I`ve brought a Chateau Petrus. Perhaps I`ll have a glass with you to celebrate the occasion."

Maurice rushed to open the noble Gran Vin Pomerol and apologized for not having a decanter. The Countess gestured with her hand, no matter and asked, "What is this wonderful song that is playing?"

"That`s 'The Speed Of Sound', by Coldplay. Do you like it?"

"Yes, very much. A perfect background to view your paintings. Perhaps you could pour us two glasses and you can escort me through your gallery."

Very carefully, Maurice poured the Petrus into his two best glasses and handed one to Mondra. "To a wonderful evening, Countess. I never expected that you would come!"

"On the contrary, Maurice. I wouldn`t miss this evening for the world."

As Maurice led her through his gallery, Mondrian began to have second thoughts about her plans. The young man had definite talent.

She could feel the excitement he felt as he showed his framed paintings. He was quite confident in his description of the journey that had taken him to his present artistic vision; as he directed her to the final two paintings, he touched her shoulder to point out some detail. Mondrian felt conflicted; she had seen the handsome young man at the opera and felt she must have him. However, having seen his work, she thought of him as someone with a future, someone who might contribute mightily to the growth of artistic expression.

She remembered the many times Alucard had expressed profound regret over his killing of Mozart. How could she be as base? And yet, she hadn`t the strength to walk away.

Alucard had also noted that when a person was subjected to hypnotic control, his/her ability to sublimate their passion into the creation of art was severely limited. This left one alternative, something very dangerous, something that had caused her great difficulty in the past.

Since Alucard had attempted to destroy her in Scotland, she had vowed never to share her blood with one of her victims. The making of a vampire was a cure for loneliness, but it left one vulnerable, as a young vampire never seemed to be able to control his/her blood lust. Witness the "Jack the Ripper" murders, which were performed by her first vampire servant/lover. Witness her own existence, evidence of how a vampire could rebel against its maker.

Yet, this young man, so handsome, so talented! Should she take the chance?

Mondrian entwined herself around his left arm and led him to the futon. As they sat, she reached for the wine and poured a second measure into his glass.

"Maurice, I am very impressed with your work. It`s seems clear to me that what you need is time to invest in your work without financial or other worldly concerns. If you would permit me, I would like to relieve you of these worries. I have been blessed with a substantial family inheritance and it would be my pleasure if you would accept my support."

Maurice smiled and sipped his wine. "Countess, your appreciation of my work is more important to me than anything you can do to free me to pursue my Muse. But, if you`re serious, I will humbly accept your support."

Mondrian drew close to him, resting her head on his shoulder. She snuggled closer and kissed the lobe of his ear, then his neck. As she felt his breathing deepen, Mondrian opened her lips wider and sunk her incisors into his aorta. She drank deeply of his fresh clean blood, losing herself in the sexual thrill. Almost without thinking, she found herself bringing her left wrist to her mouth. She opened the vein pulsing inside her wrist and brought it to Maurice`s lips.

"Drink, my dear, and you will have eternal life!"

Maurice swooned, then suckled at her vein.

As Maurice collapsed on the futon, Mondrian contemplated what she had done. It would be easier for her to believe that she had been overcome by the heat of the moment but that was not entirely true. Mondrian had arrived at Maurice`s apartment secretly, as bat. She had also been very explicit in her instructions to him at their meeting at the opera, guarding against others knowing of their furtive appointment.

Mondrian sighed and gazed at Maurice`s framed paintings. He was much more talented than she expected. Once she had seen the genius and maturity in his art, she knew that hypnotic submission was out of the question. She could not willingly extinguish that creativity; Alucard had warned her of that unfortunate symptom that greatly diminished the power of an artist`s ability to sublimate his/her passion into creative expression.

In her discussions with Alucard, he had been much less clear about the effect of becoming vampire on creativity. He spoke of the work of Cartolome in painting, Fedinger in fiction, Valmouth in musical composition. Within the dark community, it was well known that these artists were vampires, yet they continued to produce master works for many years. In fact, each of them had to publish their later works under pseudonyms since they were still productive after a human`s normal life expectancy. In his musings, Alucard had greatly admired their work over a span of hundreds of years. Yet, thoughts of them generally led him to despondency.

When feeling depressed, Alucard`s thoughts always returned to the guilt he felt after killing Mozart. He had become viciously angry about the threats on his life from the Catholic Church in Roumania. When he received word that Mozart was at work completing a major religious work, the massive “Requiem”, he traveled to Vienna as Count Vlad Tepes and drained him of his life`s blood.

Alucard`s ruminations over this unthinking destruction of perhaps the greatest musical composer caused him great pain. If, instead of death, he had shared his blood with Mozart, made him vampire! Given an immortal life span, what could Mozart have accomplished?

It was with these thoughts that Mondrian had viewed Maurice`s paintings. And it was why she had made him vampire.

The most important part of making a fresh vampire subservient to the making vampire would occur shortly. Mondrian smiled at her remembrance of Alucard`s secretiveness on the subject.

In laying the groundwork for her emancipation from Alucard, she had made her first vampire in London over one hundred years ago. It had taken her many decades of growth as vampire to plan and execute her escape from Alucard`s domination.

In planning for the evening on which she seduced Alucard to share her blood, Mondrian had already selected Adrian Greene to be her first vampire slave. As she lay with Alucard in his coffin, feeling him succumbing to their sharing, finally relaxing his ever-alertness, she left his coffin in the last hour before dawn.

She immediately flew to Adrian`s home in Knightsbridge where her dirt filled coffin was waiting. She was free of Alucard`s domination but hadn`t known the secret to her submission.

Mondrian was therefore very confused when it became evident to her that the vampire Adrian had not followed her instructions about feeding and was responsible for the “Jack the Ripper” slayings that so enraged the citizens of London. Although she was forced to kill Adrian in order to escape the clutches of the police, his treachery forced her to spend many months and a good portion of his fortune acquiring vampire lore. Through this research, she had learned of the imperative not discovered by human researchers until 1935.

It was in that year that the Swiss ethologist Konrad Lorenz published his seminal work on the imprinting of ducks and goslings on humans. His research only corroborated what all master vampires had known for centuries; for full imprinting of the slave vampire, the creator had to be present at the slave`s awakening into eternal life.

Mondrian sat on the futon, patiently awaiting Maurice`s awakening.