Belle Morte Bites (Belle Morte 4.3)

Reunion

Winchester, England, 2009

Ysanne's heart was in her throat, which wasn't a sensation she was used to. Surely she wasn't actually nervous. Ysanne Moreau did not get nervous.

But what was else was she supposed to call this feeling?

She stood in front of the terraced row of houses, the setting sun warm on the back of her neck, her eyes locked on that grey front door.

For the last few decades she had travelled the continent, searching out vampires – both new allies and old friends – but the two people she wanted to see most had remained elusive.

Until now.

Ysanne knocked on the door.

A moment later, it was answered, and all Ysanne's exhaustion and uncertainty faded away at the sight of the familiar face looking back at her.

Edmond's eyes widened. "Ysanne?" he whispered.

She couldn't speak.

Getting here had been a long, lonely journey – so many years ­– but she'd finally found him. More than two hundred years had passed since they last spoke, and she couldn't think what to say.

Edmond hugged her, and she closed her eyes at the familiar softness of his hair against her face, the solidity of his body as she leaned into him, her dearest, oldest friend.

"Mon garçon d'hiver," she whispered, and Edmond stroked the back of her head.

He brought her inside and through to a simply furnished living room with a stone fireplace and bookshelves lining the walls. Another vampire was sitting in an armchair by the fire; he got up when Ysanne came in, warily eyeing her.

"This is Ludovic," Edmond said. "Ludovic, Ysanne."

"You live together?" Ysanne asked.

Edmond nodded.

"As friends or . . ."

Edmond smiled. "We're just friends."

Ludovic continued to eye Ysanne, his body language stiff, uncomfortable, as if he really didn't want her here. But Ysanne had come too far to leave now.

"I'd say I can't believe you found me, but we always do, don't we?" said Edmond.

"This time I was actually looking for you. I've been looking for you for a long time," Ysanne said.

Edmond's smile dimmed. "What's wrong?"

"Nothing. But there's something very important we need to talk about."

Ysanne told him about the vampire that she and Jemima had killed, and how it had made her seriously start thinking about vampires and how they fit into the world, and how maybe things could change them for them one day. She told him how she'd paid people to let her drink from them, just as she'd done with Edmond all those centuries ago. She told him that she thought it was time that vampires came together to discuss this.

In 1982, Ysanne had bought a house on the outskirts of London, a quiet, remote place that she could use as a base, a contact point.

Then, for the rest of the decade, she had travelled the UK and the Republic of Ireland, searching for other vampires, sometimes alone, sometimes with the help of private investigators, and she'd found plenty – more than she had imagined.

Every time she found a vampire, she gave them the address of that house. When it was time for those vampires to move on from wherever they were living, they were to write to her and let her know where they would be, giving her their new address so she'd be able to contact them. Every couple of months she'd return to the house to check the post and keep an eye on where everyone was. Some vampires never contacted her; they weren't interested in what she had to say. But many more were, and over the years, Ysanne had slowly, steadily built a network between her and the vampires she met during her travels.