Free The Delicate Dependency: A Novel of the Vampire Life by Michael Talbot

“Just get in touch with me as soon as possible.”
    He smiled and slipped the pill into a small brown envelope as I turned and left the shop.
    The evening was warm and muggy and midge swarms hovered in haloes around the gas lamps. I drove the brougham myself so that it would not be necessary to fabricate any explanations for my driver. I did not want anything surrounding Niccolo’s escape to lead to me. I know I sighed with relief when I saw the white-coated figure walk carefully down the steps, and I caught a glimpse of the shining face in the lamplight. The ride to Bond Street was uneventful.
    When we finally reached the house I led Niccolo directly to the study, and he sank heavily into one of the two padded and buttoned black leather armchairs in front of the fireplace. Even though he remained silent I could tell he was carefully scanning the details of the room. The walls were of black paneling, and a deep scarlet Axminster carpet covered the floor. Huge aspidistras towered everywhere, and dark walnut bookcases shimmered in the light of the fire. A gilt pendulum clock upon the chimneypiece ticked loudly under a glass dome supported by a red, plush-covered plinth, flanked by two other domes containing carefully mounted African grasshoppers. In the corner by the door sat my desk cluttered with papers and inks, and between the chairs by the fireplace was a huge mahogany table containing an epergne, a pair of wine coolers, candelabra, and innumerable salvers, mugs, coasters, goblets, and other silver articles covered with repoussé work.
    I poured Niccolo a cognac without stopping to think that he never drank, and he accepted it greedily, rolling it 3lowly in the snifter as he savored the aroma. “Ahh, brandy,” he sighed. “It has been so long since I’ve sniffed brandy.”
    I poured myself one and sat down in the chair opposite his when suddenly a rustling in the corner caused Niccolo to lurch forward in his seat. “It’s all right,” I said as a brown, furry creature crept out from behind one of the aspidistras. “It’s only Deirdre, our hedgehog.”
    He eyed me inquisitively as the little animal nosed along the baseboard and waddled out through the partially open door. “She eats beetles,” I explained, and Niccolo sank back into his chair. “Many English households have them.”
    After many long moments he finally stared directly into my eyes. “Signore Gladstone, I cannot express enough gratitude for your assistance, but I must ask you again: Why did you do it?”
    “Help you escape?” I replied, and contemplated the question for a moment. “I suppose I did it because you were in trouble. You were quite right: People were beginning to fear you, and besides, what is that old saying? Be not forgetful to entertain strangers, for thereby some have entertained angels unawares.”
    The faintest hint of a smile crossed his face only to be crowded out once again by his continued uneasiness. “Is that the only reason, because you think I’m an angel?”
    I took a long sip of my cognac before I answered. “I have to admit that you pique my scientific interests as well. I mean, the fact that your metabolism heals itself so miraculously fast is of more than a little interest to the physician in me. And, of course”—I hesitated—“I want to know why you haven’t aged a day since the first time I saw you.”
    “Signore Gladstone,” he said chuckling evasively, “I have no memory of this meeting. And, besides, how can you be so sure it was me? How long did you say it was? Almost forty years ago?” He continued to laugh quietly, and sniffed the brandy again, but still he did not drink it.
    For the first time I grew uneasy, even frightened in the young man’s presence. I stood up and got a large red book bound in Russian leather from one of the walnut cases, and quickly thumbed through it. When I found the engraving of the London Madonna of the Rocks I offered it to him. He hesitantly accepted it.