Free Hotel Transylvania by Chelsea Quinn Yarbro Page B

the scream in her throat, wanting to keep this satisfaction from her rapist.
    Later they tore other sounds from her, and used her in their cruel delights. By the time Saint Sebastien donned the Devil's Member, Lucienne Cressie was only half-conscious, so that this monstrous invasion took only a sigh from her as she passed into unconsciousness again. Some of the Circle watched this moment with gloating faces, but Achille Cressie was not among them. He was deliciously, doubly impaled, and had not the slightest interest in what had happened to his wife.
     
     
    Text of a letter from the manservant Roger, to his master, le Comte de Saint-Germain, written in Latin, undated:
     
To my master:
I have continued my observation of Saint Sebastien, as you commanded me to do. It is as you suspected: he is gathering a new Circle around him. Already they have met, at the home of Achille Cressie, who has given them his wife. She was alive when I left at dawn, but I fear she is distracted from the use to which they put her. Saint Sebastien deflowered her, and after the others were through, raped her in the Satanic manner.
You wished to know who among those attending the circle I recognized. They are as follows:
de Vandonne
Châteaurose
Jueneport
de la Sept-Nuit
Le Grâce
If you desire it, my master, I will continue to follow
Saint Sebastien. He is vile, master. I pray you will destroy him.
I have taken the liberty of summoning a priest to La Cressie, but the household has refused to admit him. Perhaps you will succeed where I have failed.
This by special messenger, at matins. From my own hand,
Roger
     
     
     

 
     
    Chapter 7
     
     
    Hôtel Transylvania glowed like a box of jewels for some colossal goddess. Every passage was lighted with fine beeswax candles, each chandelier glowed so brightly it seemed to be alive. The Great Hall had been expanded in the latest mode, and a gallery had been added for those who wished to promenade. The only thing that was missing, which would have made the Hôtel a complete success, was the mirror-lined wall in the Great Hall. Since the founding of Versailles, every large building was expected to have mirrors. But in Hôtel Transylvania, the mirrors had been replaced by gigantic paintings of rare beauty. Two were allegorical, showing Zeus at various of his exploits, and one, a somber painting of the death of Socrates, was an authentic Velâzquez. Smaller paintings adorned the wall, and all drew exclamations and admiration from the glamorous crowd that flocked there.
    The gambling rooms were set aside in the north wing of the gigantic three-story building. They were opulent as the rest of the Hôtel, but their grandeur was secondary to the risks taken in them; fortunes changed hands under the crystal shine.
    In the rest of Hôtel Transylvania, it was festival time. Several tubs with full-grown orange trees had been arranged down one side of the grand ballroom, and the musicians' bower was filled with flowers. Everyone commented on the extravagance, and secretly envied the wealth displayed in those perishable flowers, for in October, flowers were hard to come by in Paris, and those that were available were terribly dear.
    Lackeys and waiters in salmon-colored livery moved through the bustle, performing their services swiftly and unobtrusively. Every man employed by the Hôtel was well- mannered and spoke acceptable French, treating all patrons of the Hôtel with the most becoming deference. The wine was served in the best crystal, the cognac was the finest The china set out at three luxurious buffets was wonderfully translucent, the silver service a superb example of the most elaborate Italian craft. The food was haute cuisine, prepared by a small army of chefs and scullions in the cavernous kitchen at the back of the Hôtel.
    La Comtesse d'Argenlac turned to her companion and smiled. "Ah, Marquis, if amid all this splendor you have noticed my niece, she must be complimented in the highest degree. For I