A History Mystery: Day Eight / Part Two

From the Memoirs of Jean Baptiste Morgane

Friday, 31 October

If I had still been human, the urge to sleep in would have been overwhelming. It had been ages since I drank so deeply from a single person as I had from Mattias. The sensation had made me lackadaisical, dare I say comatose even. Knowing I would see Morgan upon rising propelled me from my rest. I vaguely remembered something about a fancy dress ball later in the evening, but I needed to speak with Morgan first. The quiet dinner at her home would allow me the chance I needed to, as this generation says, spill my guts, though in my day spilling one’s guts involved a more mortal outcome. In this instance, perhaps the two were more closely related than I first thought.

We’d agreed to meet a little before six at her home. If I remembered correctly, the party would not begin until much later. Nine, I believed. Seeing to my toiletry and choosing something in fitting with the fancy dress event we were to attend, a remake of my best pirate captain dress suit brought back by a clever tailor whose mind I have become adapt at controlling, I formulated a plan where I would set her at ease and hopefully create the proper atmosphere for what I had to say. I in no way considered this to be an easy task. Before the night was done, my words would destroy her safe little world. Morgan would know the natural world was not as she had come to think of it. And neither was I.

Some trepidation dogged my heels as I made my way to her home. If I loved her, why was I planning to rip apart everything that made her human? Did my own selfish concerns matter more to me than Morgan’s happiness? Did it matter? My decision had been made. Whatever else happened this night, we would either be together for all eternity or our love would forever be doomed to the bounty of death.

Disregarding the sobering thought, I turned upon Morgan’s street. The crush of early evening traffic pressed me toward the storefronts and apartment buildings lining her roadway. Ahead I had a flash of recognition. Mattias’ huddled form in the crowd. His gaze was plastered on Morgan’s gatehouse apartment. Weaving in and out of the mass of people populating the sidewalk, I made no move to capture his attention. I wanted to take him unawares to discover the truth. Probing his mind would have revealed all, but I wanted the truth to fall from his lips.

By the time I made my presence known, Mattias had no chance to escape. Gripping the back of his shirt, I pulled him into the shadow cloaked alcove directly across from Morgan’s door. The man did not even try to lie. Voice quaking, he admitted stalking Morgan but not to harm her. His unrequited love for her seeped through the fractured barriers of his mind. Only that singular emotion could snap my control over him.

I did not wonder at his reasoning for being here. The evidence of truth damned him more than his thoughts ever could. The press of a stake curled back against Mattias’ wrist told the tale. Instead of fury, laughter kindled inside me. A mental push sent him sinking to the ground. I couldn’t bring myself to slay him. His strength of will provided an interesting foil for me but I would not brook another such action on his part. The next would mean his death. For now, unconsciousness held him so that my plans could proceed unimpaired. By the time he woke, it would be too late for him to save anyone, let alone himself.

Leaving him to the gutter he so richly deserved, I crossed the street. A flutter of nerves entered my stomach, twisting it into an uncomfortable knot. The closer my feet brought me to her door, the more the urge to flee swamped my brain. Forcing it down unto my subconscious, I stepped onto the tiny landing at her door. Before my hand reached for the ornamental knocker, the door flew open revealing a vision so glorious my eyes burned with the radiance.

“Come in, Jean Baptiste, my love.”

With those simple words my damnation and salvation were sealed.