The Artist's Muse

Chapter 10

Venice, Italy. 31 October, 2006

The hours of celebration ran long and loud. Sebastian watched from a seat in the corner, nursing one final goblet of blood. Remus had finally stopped hanging about and was currently on the other end of the room waltzing with a stunning blonde beauty. She must have been recently Turned, because Sebastian had never seen her before.

Not that it mattered. Victor and his coven choosing to expand their ranks was none of Sebastian's business. Not anymore. His lip lifted at the corner, exposing one fang, and he emptied his goblet in one gulp.

At this point, nobody would notice if he slipped out for a while. Sebastian placed his goblet on the nearby table and exited the room through a door on the southern wall. Once the heavy oak door swung shut, his muscles relaxed. He followed the pitch-black hallway by muscle memory alone. His footsteps echoed across the flagstone floors like rocks skipping on the surface of a still lake.

Deep in the labyrinth of connecting passageways, he stopped in front of another door and pulled a brass key from his pocket. Yes, he didn't bother carrying a key to the keep. But the key to his private quarters? That never left his person. He slid the key into the lock and turned, having to wiggle it a bit to get the rusty mechanism to function.

The hinges creaked from decades of disuse as he pushed the door open. He felt the shelf near the door for matches, cursing when he remembered using the last one the last time he'd been in here. Fumbling in his pocket, a smile crossed his face when his fingers brushed the plastic of a lighter he'd picked up the other day. "I knew I'd need you for something," he murmured and flicked it into life.

In the small firelight, Sebastian could see the inside was just as he had left it. A soft coating of dust lay on the brushes, the bed, and the half-finished painting on the easel. He lit the torch on the wall and avoided looking at the canvas as he sat on the edge of the bed. It was time. He pulled the letter from his pocket and began to read like a man finding water in the desert.

7 October, 2006

Dear Sebastian,

I'm sorry this letter is coming late, but I ended up in the hospital for a little while. At first I thought my leukemia was coming back. But don't worry, I'm not dying or anything this time.

"No!" Sebastian shouted. His grip tightened and crumpled the side of the letter, which he both desperately wanted and couldn't bring himself to read. "I just found you! We haven't had a chance this time! And I'm out of damn paint! You're too young. Too young..." He relaxed his hand and began smoothing the paper, his face full of pain.

How long could they keep doing this? Every life got shorter. What would happen when she started dying in childhood? Or as an infant? Would she eventually stop being reincarnated at all? The thought made his heart a black hole in his chest, dragging him into its depths until nothing remained.

He took a deep breath, forcing his racing thoughts to slow. She said she was fine. Leukemia sounded far from ideal, but medicine had made great strides in the centuries he had lived. Perhaps this 'Google' thing could tell him how much he actually had to worry? Sebastian closed his eyes and raised his chin to the sky. Everything would be fine. Letters were supposed to bring him joy, not terror.

I was halfway through a different letter when it happened, but it felt weird to tack my updates on that one once I got out. The doctor wasn't quite sure what happened, but I'm fine now. Which means I can get back to work and resume saving for my grand tour of Italy!

Speaking of, I would love some suggestions on where I should stay. Are there any nice places in Vernazza? I figure you would know better than reviews on the internet. Those are not very reliable on a good day, honestly. Also, I have no idea how people planned trips like this before the internet. Did they just...show up and see where they could find a room? That would make me so anxious! Or I guess travel agents have been a thing for a while, I don't know.