“And what must I do,” the child asked, “to repay your
kindness?” One of the vampire maidens stepped forward
and unrolled a canvas bundle revealing the wooden stakes
it contained, and DeHaviliard, with an arm draped around
the boy’s shoulder, whispered into his ear.
When the boy arrived, Gunter Oorlander sat propped up
on an old, overstuffed divan. An old, well-worn book,
telling tales of the ancient Egyptian gods, lay spread open
across his lap. The remainder of his right leg, which hadn’t
been shorn off by the crashing beam, rested upon some
frilly, but stained, pillows. Though his underlings had done
their best to dress the wound, it still reeked of rot and
decomposition.
“What brings you here boy?” Oorlander asked.
“My master, Meneer DeHaviliard heard about your
misfortune and sends me as a gift. He thought that
perhaps an hour or two of pleasure might bring you some
relief from your misfortunes.” The boy stood meekly
before him, shielding his thoughts as carefully as he
shielded the stake, secured with string to the thin, frail,
forearm beneath his light jacket. Oorlander’s guards had
considered the child no risk to their Master, and so had
been lax in searching him for weapons upon his arrival.
“Perhaps a distraction would bring some respite,”
Oorlander replied, with a sordid grin. “Leave us,” he
instructed his guards, and he and the boy were alone. The
boy moved around behind him and began massaging and
caressing the vampire’s broad shoulders. The old book,
36