Page 46 of Vampire so Virtuous
“Very good, sir.” Marcel’s face became, if anything, even more inscrutable than his usual professional countenance. Antoine knew him well enough to recognize this as his indication of surprise. Which was fair; he couldn’t remember the last time they’d sat together. An unforgivable oversight on his part.
As Marcel moved through the living room, Antoine noticed the stiffness in his gait and the way his hand gripped the back of the chair for support. Marcel had always been a study in precision and grace, but now there was a deliberate slowness to his steps, and Antoine couldn’t ignore it any longer.
He sank into one of the wingback chairs beside the fireplace, and Marcel, after a respectful interval, eased himself into the other.
“How long have we known each other?” Antoine began.
“Since you pulled me, battered and beaten, from the icy depths of the Charles River, sir? Fifty-six years this coming February.”
Antoine raised his eyebrows in surprise. “Fifty-six years? Has it really been that long?”
“Indeed, sir.”
“Fifty-six years,” Antoine repeated softly. “Half a century. And I haven’t sat with you nearly enough.”
Marcel cleared his throat, glancing away, his rheumatic eyes glistening in the firelight.
“Well, old friend,” Antoine continued, “we knew this would happen one day.”
Marcel took a brief pause to regain his poise, then replied with a hint of his usual bonhomie. “Perhaps sir might care to explain what he’s referring to, so that I will know whether to serve the Château Margaux, or the Cognac.”
“I encountered Minh tonight. We had a… contretemps.” His eyes drifted toward the fire, watching the flames lick at a log that had clearly been there a while. “I also killed some of his thralls this evening, Marcel, and he assured me he would seek to return the favor.”
“That might be a challenge for him, sir, as you don’t have…” Marcel trailed off. “Ah.”
“Mmm. Indeed.” Antoine looked over at him. “I had hoped to avoid conflict, but…” He gave a small, regretful shrug.
“Yes, sir,” Marcel replied, his stare fixed on the dying embers of the fire.
“You know what this means.”
Marcel took a long moment to consider the words, his fingers stiff as he folded his hands on his lap. “Respectfully, sir, my position hasn’t changed.”
“Marcel, if I don’t enthrall you, I can’t keep track of you. I won’t know if something happens to you. You won’t be able to contact me if something is amiss. You’ll be alone.”
The old retainer met his eyes, calm and unflinching. “Yes, sir, I am fully aware.”
“Don’t you see? It’s different this time. There’s a real threat.”
Marcel smiled, and it softened the lines of his face, making him appear more like a kindly, benevolent grandfather than the stoic servant he usually was. When had he gotten so old? “I appreciate your interest, sir, and understand your reasons. Regrettably, my answer remains the same.”
Antoine’s brow furrowed. “Will you at least accept my mark? Under the Code, you’d be protected—”
Marcel lifted a hand, and for once, it was the master of the house that deferred to the retainer. “I am eighty-one years old, sir, and should the worst happen, I believe I have led a full life.”
Antoine shook his head. “You have plenty of life left in you, my friend. And if you became my thrall, you could have the same again.” This time, it was Antoine that lifted his hand, signaling that he wasn’t finished, and Marcel inclined his head. “I respect your wishes and won’t press the matter, but the offer stands. If you change your mind, you need only to let me know.”
Marcel nodded gravely. “I appreciate that, sir. And now, with the matter settled, I think I will open the Margaux.”
Antoine answered in a lighter tone, aiming to alleviate the mood. “Be my guest. Do you mind my company while you drink it?”
The old retainer smiled, his eyes moist. “I would be delighted, sir. It has been too long since we last conversed. I shall fetch the bottle and a glass.” He rose and made his way to the door, returning a few minutes later with a tray. He placed it on the small table before sitting once more. “These bones may be too old, and I might not be able to defend myself easily, but the house…” He looked around fondly. “The house is not defenseless.”
Antoine leaned back, silence lingering between them. “It might not come to that. But in the meantime, the least I can do is pour you a drink.”
“The least you can do, sir, is let it breathe.”
Antoine let his hand fall and leaned back. “In my defense, it’s been nearly two and a half centuries since I last had the stuff.”
