Foster Fledgling

Chapter Two

The next evening when Louis awoke, he automatically reached over to turn on the lamp. When he lay back down, he was startled to feel a warm body next to him. For a brief instant, he hoped it was Lestat. Then, he recalled the events of the previous evening.

Frankie - or, François, as Louis already thought of him - was still in the death-like day slumber. It may have been his imagination, but Louis thought that the boy looked better than the night before. He found that deeply gratifying, although he could not say exactly why.

He rose, and went into the washroom for his nightly ritual. By the time he'd finished, and dressed, François was beginning to stir. That Louis found very surprising; if, as François said, he was merely a few weeks old, he should not be rising as early as Louis did. Still, it was always different for everyone, and then again, there was no telling who had done the Dark Trick.

Louis patted the boy on the head, and walked over to his computer. He first checked his email, hoping that tonight, perhaps, Lestat would have left him some hint, some indication where he was. He had been gone for the past three weeks, disappeared without a word. No one in the entire coven seemed to know where he was.

He knew that Lestat had been indulging himself, had been stalking the same mortal night after night. Louis had suspected that the human was a criminal, and had followed Lestat one night just to satisfy his curiosity. Lestat had noticed him, of course, and they'd had a terrible row, culminating in Lestat's departure from the Royale Street house. Louis had not seen him since.

It occurred to him that Lestat might have made this fledgling, just to spite him. That thought he pushed away immediately. After what had happened with David Talbot, Louis knew that he was not above working the Dark Trick on a mortal, with or without prior request, but to abandon that fledgling? No, Lestat had never done that. His ego wouldn't allow it. He had to be able to stand back afterwards, and say, "There. Look what I did! You see? I was right. You did want it after all." Childish, of course, but that was Lestat, the Brat Prince. No, Louis could not even entertain the thought that Lestat had done this terrible deed. It was beyond even him.

He skimmed through the messages, stopping to read only those from the other members of the coven.

Armand's, as usual, was filled with addresses of sites he thought Louis would enjoy. But, then, at the end, the answer to Louis's question. "No, Caro, we have not seen the Immortal Fool. Why don't you come and visit us, instead?" And, of course, the ESPN scores from Daniel. "Lou, I have tickets to the next three night games at Candlestick. Here's the dates. Can you come? I'll send the plane."

The others were equally as disappointing. Marius had been searching for Lestat ever since Louis had written of his disappearance, but could not hear him anywhere. David was sympathetic and also concerned, but had no helpful news. Even Maharet could not find him. It seemed as if Lestat had dropped off the face of the earth.

Louis answered them all, thanking them for their concern. He also quickly composed a thumbnail description of François and his story, and explained the situation to them, asking for any clues as to who had done the Dark Trick on the child. He made a point to state, unequivocally, that regardless of who his maker might be, François was now under his protection, and was therefore a member of the coven.

He sent this information to Maharet first. Although she would be the first to eschew any preferential treatment, Louis felt that it was merely what she and Mekare deserved. After all, Mekare was the source of life for all of them, and Maharet her guardian and link with the rest of the coven. On a strictly personal level, Louis had great reverence for the Twins, and great fondness for Maharet. It had been her story that given him the answers he'd so long desired.

Maharet responded almost immediately.

"My dear Louis," she wrote, "I am very grateful that you wrote me with this news. You know we can feel it when a new one is born, but I am afraid I know no more than you do about his maker. Of course, he will be welcomed into our little family. I will make certain that everyone knows this."

Louis was greatly relieved. He knew that Maharet's acceptance of François implied her protection as well; no one would harm him. He would be safe, at least from their own kind.

"I look forward to meeting him," she went on. "If you need any assistance, do not hesitate to ask. I would like to know more about him, and would greatly appreciate it if you would send me a more detailed account of his experiences. Or, if you prefer, I could come to see him sometime in the very near future. I leave it up to you, as I am sure you know what is best for him."

Louis immediately sent off a reply, inviting Maharet to come and stay as long as she liked. Naturally, no one in the coven really needed a formal invitation to pay a visit, but it was a courtesy most of them extended to one another.

He'd no sooner sent this, than he was literally inundated with messages from the rest of the coven. Most, like Maharet, wanted to know more about this fledgling, and all expressed total ignorance of his origin. He found it highly amusing, this reaction, and strangely comforting; unnatural as their relationships might be, they were indeed a family, and François was welcomed into the fold as lovingly as any mortal newborn ever was. Louis debated whether to invite all of them at once, and get it over with, or to expose François to them gradually. Taken en masse, the members of the coven could be, to put it diplomatically, overwhelming. Ultimately, he decided upon the latter. Explaining his reasons, he assured them that all would get their chance to meet François.

"Wow, are you really talking to Armand? The real Armand?"

Louis started. He had been so engrossed in writing, he hadn't heard François awaken. It took him a moment to regain his composure. "Yes, François," he replied. "It is the real Armand, and he is very eager to meet you." Louis slipped an arm around the boy's waist. "As are the rest of the coven."

"You really mean it?" He pushed the hair out of his face, and leaned forward to look at the computer screen. "Are they all real? The ones in the books, I mean. Armand, and Marius, and the Twins?"

"Yes, they are all real," Louis smiled up at him. "Would you like to meet them?"

"I guess so," the boy answered. Suddenly, he stiffened. "They won't try to kill me, will they?"

"François!" Louis was shocked. "Of course not. Where did you get such an idea?"

"The books," he replied. "In the one book, it said that Armand kills all the young ones."

Louis stood, and put his arms around the boy. "That will not happen to you, I promise. That was a long time ago, and it was entirely different circumstances. Here," he pulled up Maharet's message. "You see? She has said it, you are part of the coven, and that means no one will harm you." He embraced the boy again, then held him out at arms length. "You are no longer alone, François. You have an entire family, now."

"Just like that?" François asked, incredulous. "They don't even know me."

"They will, don't worry. In time, you'll meet everyone."

"Yeah?" François gazed up at him, eyes wide. "When?"

"Soon. For now, however, there are more pressing matters." He turned the boy around, and walked him to the washroom, snapping on the light as he opened the door. "Not to be indelicate, P'tit, but even mortals could catch your scent."

François wrinkled his nose. "Kind of smelly, huh? Sorry about that." He grinned sheepishly. "I haven't had a place to stay for awhile, and guess it's been a couple of days - I mean, nights, since I had a bath."

"Don't let it bother you." Louis opened cupboards and pulled out fresh towels, scented soap, and shampoo, stacking things on the long marble vanity. "You won't have to live like that ever again." He pulled open the etched glass doors, and pointed to the fixtures. "Now, this plumbing is a bit complicated. Until you are more familiar with it, I will adjust the settings for you." He twisted two dials on either side of a large lever. "These control the water temperature and the heat lamps up here," he pointed to a ceiling fixture. "I have set it at a level that should be comfortable for you, but if you find it too cool or too warm, please tell me, I shall change it." He turned his attention to a series of small knobs on one wall. "These control the amount of water, and the force. It can be a bit too much, if you ask me, but Lestat insisted upon this system. Waste of money," he muttered. "Now, you pull up on this," he indicated the large central lever, "and it turns on the water, you push it down, it shuts off." He pushed the lever in, and pulled up. Water gushed out an ornate faucet. "There, see how that feels," he said, smiling.

François tentatively put a finger under the flow. "That's okay," he said, wiping his hand on the pajama bottoms. "It feels nice and warm. I like warm, I'm always cold, now."

"Yes, I recall how that was," Louis replied. "You have not been feeding enough, that is part of it. It will dissipate somewhat. Now," he pushed the lever off, "you have everything you need. I will leave your clothes out here. When you've finished, you come downstairs, I will be waiting for you. Bien?"

"Yeah, thanks," François nodded. "I won't be long."

"Take as long as you like," Louis said, running a hand through the boy's hair. "Pay attention to the feel of it. Make the most of these new senses." He smiled warmly. "I think you will enjoy it."
He turned and left, shutting the door behind him.

François took in the room around him. The walls were tiled in gold, black and emerald, and a profusion of warm amber light came from numerous lamps set deep into the ceiling. There was a long, low bench of black marble, and a round table of the same material, with some small sculptures made of green stone, probably jade, he figured. Reaching out, he ran a finger along the surface of the table; it was very cold, but smooth, like satin. He spent some time running his hands over it.

He pulled off the pajamas, then realized with a start that he could not recall changing clothes. It disturbed him a bit, the thought that he had experienced yet another memory lapse. Then, it occurred to him that Louis had possibly done it, had given him these clothes and had taken his old ones away. That embarrassed him a little, but after a moment's consideration, he realized that it didn't really bother him that much. After all, Louis didn't seem the type - François had lived on the streets for some time, and could recognize a human predator - and anyway, it wasn't as though anything could happen. He'd learned that early on; watching a very pretty girl in a very skimpy top, he was shocked to find that his body no longer responded the way it had done for the past four years. That, if nothing else, had convinced him of what he had become; reading the books merely confirmed his suspicions.

He shrugged the memory away; no use crying over spilt milk, and anyway, if the books were true, he wasn't going to miss it much. He gathered up the soap and the shampoo, and turned the water on as Louis had demonstrated. The water gushed out of three separate shower heads, which were surprisingly only at his eye level. There were steps leading down from the floor level into the shower, and François realized that there was a large, sunken marble tub. Once inside, he shut the etched glass doors, and stood for a long time letting the water flow over him.

Louis had instructed him to savor the experience, to enjoy it, and François found that this was amazingly easy. He had never felt anything like this before. The warmth was wonderful, and the gentle pummeling of the water eased the aches that had plagued him since he'd begun this strange existence. It felt so good, he could almost forget about the pain on his hands and his neck, where he'd been burned by the sun, and he could almost - almost, but not quite - ignore the gnawing, clawing fire streaking through his veins.

That pain, at least, he knew how to cure, if only temporarily. The prospect of feeding, properly, as he'd done the night before with Louis's help, shook him out of his reverie. He washed his hair first, using too much shampoo so that it took seemingly forever to rinse out all the lather. Still, it felt wonderful to have all that stuff out of his hair; despite washing up in the various hotels he'd used, he'd never quite shaken the feeling of insects crawling through his hair that had come from lying in a tomb.

He vowed to himself that he would never, ever, do that again.

He washed his hair again, savoring the coconut smell, until it began to turn his stomach. Then, he grabbed the soap, and lathered up the face cloth. The cloth was soft and nubbly, and the soap was scented, something kind of spicy and sweet and exotic smelling; it reminded him of those voodoo shops the tourists loved. It was far superior to the nauseating flower smell of the poker-chip sized soaps the hotels had provided, and a damned sight better than the fountain in Audubon Park.

When he'd finished, he indulged himself again, just for a little while, letting the warmth soak into his bones. Then, reluctantly, he shut off the water, and climbed out. The towels Louis had left were as soft as the face cloth, and larger than the blankets in the last hotel he used. The heat lamp overhead was almost as good as the water, and he was dried in no time. Wrapping the towel around his waist - it dragged on the floor, and he had to double it over just to walk without tripping - he went back out into the bedroom.

Just as he'd promised, Louis had laid out his clothes on the bed. He was somewhat surprised to find that his jeans had been freshly laundered, and even the holes in the knees had been repaired. His Saints shirt was missing, but there was a stack of neatly folded shirts beside his jeans. Most were very expensive looking, and none had any manufacturer or size tags; he took the top one, a white tee shirt, and then, because he was still a little cold, added a soft black sweater. They were only a little too large, but felt wonderfully soft and warm. He couldn't find his shoes, either, but there was a pair of black leather lace up boots. There were several pairs of socks on the bed as well, and he found if he wore two pair, the shoes were a tolerable fit. He wondered where the shoes had come from, for surely, they would not fit Louis.

He returned the towel to the washroom, and then, taking a deep breath, stepped outside the bedroom. He found the hallway very well lit, and easily made his way back downstairs to the parlor he'd seen the night before.

Louis was not there, but from the next room François heard the rustle of paper. There he found Louis, seated at an enormous, ornately carved table. There was a newspaper unfolded on the table before him, and two large stacks on the floor beside his chair. Louis was bent over the paper on the table. He looked up when François entered.

"Ah, there you are," he said, smiling. "Come, sit down for a moment," he gestured toward the chair beside him. "You look much better. How do you feel?"

"Okay," François answered, pulling out the chair and sitting. "It feels good to be clean, and that shower was something else." He pointed to the papers. "You read all those papers?"

"Yes," Louis replied. "They are from other cities. I enjoy reading different points of view. Also," he smiled conspiratorially, "I am quite addicted to crossword puzzles." He indicated the half-finished puzzle before him. "It may be a bit disloyal, but I have to admit, the New York Times puzzle is the most challenging."

"How many of these have you done?" François asked. "Tonight, I mean?" He bent down and picked up a paper from the stack.

"All of them. This is the last." Louis looked back at the puzzle, and inked in an answer.

"You must read fast," François said. "I mean, I wasn't that long, was I?"

"Oh, only about - " Louis pulled out his watch, and flipped open the lid. "Just a little over two hours."

"You're kidding!" François exclaimed. "I wasn't in there that long, was I?"

Louis laughed lightly. "It's alright, François. I told you to enjoy yourself. Did you?"

"Yeah. But it didn't seem like that long."

"That's understandable. Your new senses are overwhelming right now. Enjoy these feelings, lock them into your memory, I promise you, you will never regret it." He glanced at the puzzle, and quickly wrote in another answer before turning back to François. "Aside from that, how do you feel tonight?"

"Um," François took a minute to assess his state. He was clean, he'd had a pleasant, warming shower, he had clean clothing, he'd slept in a comfortable, protected place, and he'd fed well the night before. "I feel pretty good," he admitted, surprised. "I feel better than I have since, well, since I've been - this way."

"You can say vampire, you know," Louis said, smiling. "There's no one else here. Your precaution is very wise, though. That is a very intelligent response, and a good habit to cultivate." He reached over and stroked the boy's hair. "You are a very clever young man, François."

"Thanks," François murmured. "You really think so?"

"Of course," Louis replied. "I wouldn't lie to you. I will never lie to you, François." He reached over, and grasped the boy's hand. "You can trust me, I am your friend."

François looked up into Louis's eyes. "You know, Louis, you're not like I'd thought you'd be."

"I'm not?" Louis frowned.

"No," François grinned suddenly. "You're a whole lot nicer than the books say."

"Those books!" Louis said, trying to sound stern and disapproving, and failing utterly. "I hope you are not intending to keep throwing those damned books up at me constantly."

"No," François said, shaking his head. "But I'm glad I found them, and I'm glad I found you. I owe you my life, you know."

"Now, now," Louis said, dismissively. "There's no need for melodramatics. Anyone would have done as much, given the circumstances." Louis knew it was a lie, he knew that there were some who would kill such a one as François, simply for his weakened state. There were some, even these days, who would kill him now, merely on principle. But François did not need to harbor such fears, not now.

What he did need, Louis realized somewhat belatedly, was to hunt. "Come," he said, putting down his pen and rising. "We must tend to necessary business." He pushed the chair back into the table, and nodded approvingly as François did the same.

"Where are we going?" François asked, following Louis toward the back of the house.

"Now? We have to let Mojo inside to have his supper." Louis opened a door, revealing a moonlit courtyard below. There were high walls on the other three sides, and a large, three tiered fountain, in which François could see large fish swimming about. Every spare inch of the courtyard was overflowing with plants.

They stepped outside, and François followed him down the spiral stairs that led down to the garden. They stopped beside the fountain, and Louis whistled softly. Immediately, a large dark shape came careening out of the shadows, panting and whining, to stop in front of them. Louis knelt, and scratched behind Mojo's ears.

"There," he said, stroking the dog's head. "Mojo, this is François." He gestured for François to come forward. "François, please hold you hand opened, so he can get your scent. Don't be afraid, he won't bite you unless you frighten him." François did as Louis directed, and Mojo snuffled his hand for a few seconds, then licked his hand, and looked up, panting. Slowly, François reached up and patted the dog's head.

"You see?" Louis smiled. "I knew he would like you. Mojo is a highly intelligent animal, and very loyal."

"He's a nice dog," François admitted. "He's so huge, though! When I first saw you with him, I thought he was some kind of wild animal, a wolf or something."

"Well, of course he is," Louis said, turning and climbing the steps. "Mojo is a fierce, dangerous, wild animal. Aren't you, Mojo?" The fierce, dangerous, wild animal pushed his snout under François's hand, forcing François to pet him as they walked through the house to the kitchen. While François continued to play with Mojo, Louis retrieved a large bowl from the refrigerator, and placed it on the floor beside an equally large bowl of water. The instant the bowl touched the floor, Mojo abandoned François's ministrations, and rushed to devour his supper.

"Is he always like this?" François asked, as he and Louis made their way to the front of the house.

"What, friendly, or hungry?" Louis retrieved his keys from the mantel piece. "Yes, to both, usually. Oh, I nearly forgot," Louis held up a hand, indicating that François stay where he was for a moment. He hurried up the stairs, and returned presently bearing two jackets. "It seemed a bit cool just now, I thought you might need a coat. See if this fits you." He handed one to François, and put on the other.

François took the proffered jacket, and tried it on. It was black, looked to be leather, and was lined with a very soft material. The sleeves were a bit long, but otherwise it fit fairly well, and François found it very comfortable. He zipped it shut, and they stepped outside, Louis locking the door behind them.

"Um, Louis?" François reached out, and touched Louis's arm as he started down the steps. "Since Mojo has had his supper, do we, um - "

"Yes," Louis turned back to him. "Now, we will have ours."

"Oh." François shoved his hands in his pockets; the night air was cool, not bitterly cold, and he was appreciative of the warmth the jacket offered. "I was wondering, but I didn't want to say anything."

Louis stopped at the bottom of the stairs, and turned to lock the gate behind them. "I thought as much," he admitted. "But, you may ask anything you wish. I am not offended, believe me." He smiled at the boy, and was gratified to see a lopsided grin in response.

Foster Fledgling - Chapter Three

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