TALES OF ARMAND & DOMINIQUE - BOOK II

I. Remembrance

"Blow out the candles, dear and make a wish!"
At eighteen, she thought it was rather childish,
But offered a smile at this festive affair
Put on by the bishop and his housekeeper Claire.
The fiery wicks on the cake took her back
To the night of the gruesome and savage attack.

Out late with friends though not very far,
She returned to find the front door ajar.
The darkness produced an unusual calm,
Until she tripped over the head of her mom.
The eyes were still open and the mouth was bound,
The body was gone and was never found.
Her father was tied to a dining room chair,
The blood from his head wound had matted his hair.
The moonlight reflected his neck in the dark,
Revealing the blood dried distinctive mark.
Screaming she ran out into the night
To the house of the bishop the last on the right.
In the morning she woke in his guest room bed,
Where he sat and told her about the undead.
She was sixteen and stood on her open porch,
And lit the petrol with the flaming torch.
The bishop said it had to be done
Before they saw another setting sun.

She had been living in his house these past two years,
Where many a night she would wake up in tears.
Dominique closed her eyes and remembered how
That night she made a solemn vow
To avenge the murders in her crusade
To see each and every last vampire slayed.


II. First Encounter

Her last year of studies at the Sorbonne,
Was when Dominique had first met Armand.
In a lecture on the poetry of Charles Baudelaire
He entered the hall and pulled up a chair.
Their eyes made contact and he offered a smile,
He was handsome with a rugged yet debonair style.
She tried to listen as the speaker droned on,
But her interest was more in watching Armand.
He wrote in a sketchpad fixed on his knee,
And seemed to be taking notes copiously.
When class was over and she rose from her seat,
The pages from her binder had dropped to her feet.
She knelt as she gathered her notes from the floor
When the voice from behind said, "here are a few more."
He helped her up, extending his hand,
His eyes were inviting, his complexion was tanned.
They stopped for a drink at a nearby cafe,
He gave her a rose that he bought on the way.
"It was quite a good lecture, the best I've heard;
And you seemed to write down every last word"
He replied that he didnt take any notes at all.
"I was sketching your face from across the hall."
He smiled again and held up the pad,
The likeness was perfect, but the expression was sad.
"You are quite the beauty, though I see in your eyes,
A sorrowful spirit you cannot disguise."
"Thank you for the drink, but I must head back,
I'll be traveling this weekend and I have yet to pack."
"I hope I will see you again sometime soon."
"I'll be back on Monday, late afternoon."
They exchanged goodbyes and she left the cafe,
She was meeting the bishop though she wished she could stay.
Back at her flat, she packed the supplies
She would need for the mission that was set for sunrise.
She donned the black leathers and covered her head
With the helmet she kept on the bike in the shed.
She mounted the supercharged Triumph '04,
And sped to the sound of the engine roar.
By dawn it will simply be more of the same,
A vampire nest burned down by The Flame.


III. Bishop

"Here is the map to the DeBouchet farm,
Arrive after dawn to elude any harm.
I know you rely on the petrol grenade,
But this time, Dominique, I'm rather afraid.

The Watchers have counted at least five or six,
So I think you should go with the dynamite sticks.
The young English chemist suggested you use
The acetone mix with the slow burning fuse.

I see in the papers they call you 'The Flame';
'An anonymous hero of a shadowy game,
Who rides like the wind with a penchant for fire
And leaves the dark prey on a funeral pyre.'

The Church is quite proud of the slaying you've done,
But sadly, I doubt that this war can be won.
With every last demon you set out to burn,
May Godspeed assure you a peaceful return."

They stood and she offered the Bishop a hug,
"Don't worry," she said with a smile and a shrug.
She glanced in the mirror and it was no surprise,
That Armand saw the sadness behind smiling eyes.



IV. Debouchet Farm

The sky was ablaze in scarlet and gray
As ominous clouds unveiled a new day.
Frost painted pastures in mist autumn glare,
A less travelled road sending dust in the air.

The shiver betrayed an unsettling chill,
As she surveyed the farm from the foot of the hill.
The house looked abandoned as the Bishop had said,
A hideaway haven for a clan of undead.

The adrenalin rushed as she rode up the drive,
Was it skill or her prayers that had kept her alive?
She got off and pushed the bike up on its stand,
The spring loaded crossbow and grapnel in hand.

She fired at the roof and the iron held tight,
She began her ascent up the two story height.
She opened the black leather carrying case,
And in minutes the explosives were all set in place.

She climbed down and wired each window and door.
In just a few moments she would sanction the gore
As the smell of flesh burning distills in the air,
And the screaming of creatures in utter despair.

She ignited the petrol and tossed in the bottle,
At the sound of glass breaking she opened the throttle.
The timer allowed her a hasty retreat,
As this vampire nest would go down in defeat.

She came to a stop at the foot of the hill,
The heart pounding terror a test of her will.
As the farm house exploded and lit up the sky,
She broke down into an uncontrollable cry.



V. Lovers

"You're such a tease, Armand, don't make me beg,"
His tongue traced the three inch scar on her leg.
"How did you do this? It looks like a burn,"
"OK, my lover, now it's your turn."
She flipped him over with such skill and ease,
Positioning herself between his knees.
Her fingers caressed his muscular thighs,
As she gazed seductively into his eyes.
She lowered her mouth to twitching flesh,
His scent that she breathed was musky and fresh.
He moaned at the touch of her moistened lips,
And clutched at the bedposts like steel grips.
She mounted her lover like a passionate bride,
And soon felt him shudder and climax inside.
She cuddled beside him, her arm on his chest,
It was nice, she thought, just to lie down and rest.
For eight months the passion continued to grow,
She wondered now how she would let Armand know
That her pact with the Bishop was already made,
The schooling and housing all fully paid.
The one year commitment was three weeks away;
Instructing recruits in the art of the slay,
Working with fire and methods of search,
And traveling through Europe as a ward of the Church.
She frowned at this sorrowful twist of fate,
And deferred until morning to tell her mate.



VI. Teacher

She sipped from the tea as Armand lay asleep,
Torn between love and a promise to keep.
He'll trust in the lie she has yet to tell,
Tears will be shared and he'll wish her well.
She looked out the window to the boulevard,
Recalling the first time she met Renard.
A soldier of fortune extraodinaire,
An assassin for hire with nary a care.
She still sees the barrel he pressed to her head,
As he ordered her down on the thin army bed.
Lifting her nightgown to fondle her thighs,
Insisting it was part of the exercise.
Her first bid at love stole more than her heart,
The first time he forced her naive legs apart.
From student to master and the price that she paid,
Was her innocence lost and a huntress made.
Seductress and stalker with an instinct to kill,
Though at times she feels like a child still.
Now she is teacher and as much in demand,
As the mentor who loved with Beretta in hand;
Whose only allegiance would continue to be
To the one who was paying his usual fee.
They'll be working together at the training retreat,
A five year reunion since they had their first meet.
"Dominique," Armand called affectionately,
Interrupting her bitter-sweet reverie.


VII. Camp

The sky turned to dusk as she led the troop back,
Twenty-one orphans of demon attack.
The Church was selective in the slayers they chose,
Avenging young victims of nocturnal woes.
This group was adjusting from what she could tell,
Reminded that Armand was an orphan as well.
They walked through the mud on the edge of the creek,
She missed him completely after just the third week.
From the time she arrived for the first several days,
She would saunter alone in a sad somber haze -
What was he doing? Was he missing her now?
Was his promise to wait a gratuitous vow?
Would passion and love survive distance and time?
Was faithful an option for a man in his prime?
And would he forgive the illusory pause
When she lied about leading a missionary cause.
She jumped as she turned on the light in her room,
"Greetings, my lovely young Angel of Doom."
She watched as Renard slowly rose from the chair,
"You're still quite the beauty, I must declare.
I hear now your taste is for rich Jewish blood,"
His finger reached out to a spatter of mud.
You're moping around like a love-stricken pup,
You're a soldier, my dear, and you must give it up."
Her lightening fast reflex caught him by surprise,
There was no mistaking the rage in her eyes.
The dagger sliced into the sleeve of his coat,
"Touch me again and I'll cut out your throat."
He winced as he rolled up the blood tainted sleeve,
She opened the door and insisted he leave.
"It's a pleasure to see that I taught you so well,
In fighting off teachers and demons from hell.
"But you can't have distractions like this in your life,
Do you honestly think he will make you his wife?"
He brushed up against her as he walked out the door,
Flicking the mud from her hair to the floor.
She stripped off her clothes and stepped into the bath,
And scrubbed off the last of the mud and wrath.


VIII. Letter

April, 1909
Dearest Armand,

Night after night I have crawled into bed,
Drenched in my sheets from the tears I have shed.
I cry out for you from this grief stricken heart,
Cursing the fate that has torn us apart.
My eyes are too swollen and can no longer fight
The tears that are blotting the words as I write.
You are the only true light of my life,
I wanted to grow old with you as your wife.
Week after week I have written to you,
Sharing my dreams of the things we would do.
But somehow I've lost you along the way,
Alone in my hell now each waking day.
I've waited and waited for nearly a year,
Your only response is the silence I hear.
No letters to hold as I drift off to sleep,
No loving reminder of the promise we'd keep.
As much as I realize it's time to let go,
My feelings for you still continue to grow.
I sob as I wonder what I have done wrong,
My spirits are shattered and it's hard to be strong.
Please tell me my love, what is it I've done?
You've sent me no letters, no answers, not one.
I could not believe but clearly it's true,
What the Bishop's assistant had heard about you,
You've wasted no time in filling your nights,
And raising your decadent life to new heights.
This is the very last letter I'll send,
For I know now our love's met its last bitter end.
Not that you have any reason to care,
But I wanted you still to be aware,
That for me there will never be anyone new,
So I've prolonged my service for a year or two.
Good-bye Armand, my heart is too weak,
I will always be yours,
Forever,
Dominique

She entered the office with letter in hand,
And dropped the envelope on the mail stand.
As soon as she left, the mail clerk withdrew
The letter as Renard had instructed her to.
She put it away in her top center drawer,
Just as she did with each letter before.
Renard picked it up and later that night,
He read it and started to grin with delight.
He stood up and sporting a smile on his face,
He threw the letter in the fireplace.


IX. Masquerade Ball

"You must be Armand; you are quite well known,
I'm surprised to see you here all alone."
"Indeed I am, and you... my friend?"
"I am Lestat your host, and glad you could attend."
"Thank you, Lestat; it's been quite a while,
Since I've been out or had a reason to smile."
"You? The maker of France's best wine?
Your newest champagne is a favorite of mine.
Let's find you a girl who will steal your heart,
Shall it be virgin or married or lovely young tart?"
"Another time, but thank you just the same,
My heart still belongs to one face and one name. "
"Your femme fatal, Dominique, I believe?
Whose love is exceeded by her gift to deceive;
My circle of friends have tried to avoid
The likes of her kind for the lives she's destroyed.
How is it possible for you not to know,
That love is a craft for your sweet little doe.
Before she moves on she likes to make use
Of the missionary tale as her exit excuse."
"Pardon me please, I'm not feeling very well,"
"Why, even in mask, you do look like hell!
Allow me to escort you out to your car,"
"I prefer the fresh air and my house is not far."
"Then let us proceed, I will walk with you,
I always enjoy a little evening air too."
"Thank you Lestat, you've been very kind,
And I must have truly been out of my mind
To fall for a gold-digging heart stealing shrew,
And I'm rather embarrassed to have learned it from you.
For a year I have given the Bishop each week,
A letter to forward to Dominique.
But she never replied and they don't seem to know,
Why she did not return here a month ago.
The Bishop advised me to go on with my life,
His chilly advice cut my heart like a knife.
I should have surmised what you've told me tonight,
But she was my world and my true guiding light."
"Then on to new worlds, my sad little friend,
Consider your frail young heart on the mend."
"I like you Lestat, you are just what I need,
I'm tired of having my broken heart bleed."
"Let's begin with the marrieds, I know of a few,
Who would like to have more than their eyes on you."
"I have a feeling and I'm not certain why,
That you'll be a friend on whom I rely."
"Better be careful what you wish for Armand,
Before you get tangled in the ties that will bond."



X. Eve of Darkness

"You seem so distracted, my handsome young dear,
I will get dressed and leave if you don't want me here."
"I'm sorry, Cosette, if I've spoiled your night,
But I promise tomorrow I'll make everything right."
"If you weren't so delectable under the sheets,
I would be unforgiving and withhold my best treats.
But sadly, my lover, tomorrow's the day
My husband returns from his trip to Marseilles."
"Do you wonder sometimes if he already knows?"
"If he did, he would kill me, then you, I suppose.
But now, I will demonstrate before I go,
How the flick of my tongue can make anything grow."

In a house across town at Rue Saule twenty-one,
Monsieur Devereux sat and loaded his gun.
His trip to Marseilles was abruptly cut short,
When a pale young stranger had come to report
A graphic account of his young wife's affair,
And more than his violent demeanor could bear.
He fired the round as she came through the door,
Then hailed a taxi as she died on the floor.
"Where to this evening, Monsieur Devereux?"
He gave the address of the lover's chateau.
He slipped through the garden as the stranger had said,
And shot the man standing in front of the bed.
"Now that wasn't nice!"
He turned; and his eyes
Transfixed on the stranger he now recognized.
Lestat grabbed the murderer's hand by the wrist,
And fractured his neck in a swift fatal twist.
He fed on his prey and then went to attend
To the final conversion of his ill-fated friend.