Blood Lust

Chapter 3:Part 2

My senses reach out in the direction of the young deserter. He knows that he is being pursused, but he does not realize that it is not a court-martial that comes for him.

He begins to move faster. At first, I struggle to breathe as I try to keep pace, until it sinks in that I no longer have a need to breathe. Focusing on the pursuit,  I begin to let go of that vestige of humanity.

I can feel his fear mounting. His breathing becomes ragged. He turns and catches sight of my over his shoulder, and that is the last mistake he will ever make. He stumbles and falls to the ground, and I pounce.

He begins to scream, screams that become a screech when he sees my fangs extend. It is painful, feeling them burst from your gums for the first time, but the pain is only momentary. Soon, his sweet, hot blood is pouring down my throat. I drink and drink, and drink some more. The soldier stops screaming, resisting, and soon I can feel his heart beginning to fade away.

"Enough," says my suitor, appearing behind me. He pulls at my clothes. "Enough!" he says, forcefully. Loosing patience, he tears me from my prey. I clean my face, looking at the soldier's countenace, frozen in horror.

He thought he had escaped his worst nightmare: another soldier's corpse rolled into a mass grave. But that was before I came out of the night, eyes and teeth flashing with hunger

All that has brought me here. Momentarily satiated, my maker takes a moment to address his new progeny. "Tonight, you are flush with my blood. But by tomorrow, the power that courses through your veins will fade. You will not be stronger or faster than you were when you were alive—not for many years, anyway. In the meantime, you will have to be clever, or else you will find yourself relying on the beast that prowls within you. It is a vicious creature. You can call upon it when you are overwhelmed, but it is a devil's bargain: you will always come out the worse for the exchange. What you do have is time. You will not grow old, you will not die. In time, you will see that everything comes in cycles. Learn patience and foresight, and you will discover how to bend mortals to your will. Heed my words, and you will survive to experience all that this unlife has to offer."

With that, he leads me into a future ripe with possibilities.

It is worth noting that the War of 1812 had officially concluded before the first shot of the Battle of New Orleans was fired. However, word did not reach the generals and admirals until February, some six weeks after that decisive skirmish. As with so many events in the history of man, thousands died in an act of supreme futility.

Following the victory, a local Creole millionaire by the name of Bernard Xavier Philippe de Marigny de Mandeville throws a birthday party for George Washington; the party will also double as victory party for Gen. Jackson, the hero of New Orleans. Padre Carlos secures an invitation for the two of us. The news of the Treaty of Ghent, which ended the war with the British, only adds to the celebratory mood of the city.

February 22nd arrives; both I and my maker spend inordinate amounts of time preparing for the event.

The party is like nothing I have ever experienced before. The social world of the region arrives in as stately of a fashion as the city's limited resources can muster. A fortune must have been spent on the candles alone.

The attendees of the party are a riot of nations. It was a ragtag coalition—a near equal mix of American infantry, local French and German farmers, free blacks, Native Americans, and several contingents of Jean Lafitte's pirates from Barataria—that bested the English at the battle; for tonight at least, their leaders celebrate as one.

The nearly fifty-year-old Jackson negotiates clumps of well-wishers despite his obvious pain. He carries a kerchief with him at all times to collect the blood he coughs up from a musket-ball still lodged in his lung from a campaign years ago. To make matters more gruesome, one side of his face is still swollen from a wound sustained in the battle; a young officer saved the General from a cannon ball, at the loss of his own life, but injured the general in the process. At his side is his wife Rachel Donelson Jackson. She is short and plump, and his attentions attest to his ongoing devotion to her.

In addition to the General, Padre Carlos points out several other luminaries of the battle: the host, Bernard de Marigny; Jean Lafitte; and the District Marshal of Louisiana, Peter Duplessis. Even Bishop Dubourg has deigned to consort with the victors for the evening.

The thought occurs to me, while surveying this scene, that it would be entirely possible for me to feed on the hero of the battle. I ask my maker about the wisdom of my desire.

Padre Carlos growls at me when I ask about feeding of the hero of the battle . "Gen. Jackson already nearly killed us both once. Do you really feel the need to risk his wrath again?"

I look at Padre Carlos uncomprehendingly. "I'm sorry, but I don't understand..."

Padre Carlos interrupts me."Why do you think we were in that miserable hut during the battle?"

"You never told me why..."

"Suffice to say that Jackson is not one with whom you should be trifling."

"I understand," I say. Soon, however, Padre Carlos abandons me to my own devices, and I'm left with the responsibility of keeping myself out of trouble. But when I looked the hero I grew hungry. I shooked  my head.

"No, I have better sense than to ignore my maker's advice." I said to myself.

Later that night through careful position, I soon find myself in conversation with the host, M. de Marigny. He informs that he is seeking investors for a new venture; with the war over, the shipping lanes will be open again. And, considering the company you keep—he eyes Padre Carlos—he thinks I was worthy of inclusion.

"Would you like to invest some money in this venture?" he asked.

I shooked my head and said no.

M. de Marigny seems disappointed, but not overly so; there are many others clamoring to join in. The rest of the evening passes without incident