As Donovan approached the building the bazaar was held in, he knew he was going to have a problem. Attending auctions on short notice simply wasn’t done. Only very special circumstances allowed this, and he would have to trust that his good standing with them was enough. The passing of nearly half a century had hopefully done nothing to dull their memories of him. He always made quite the impression, his sire, Ignatius, had taught him from a young age that the best way to remain in good standing was to make clear you weren't one to be trifled with. The fact he had been missing could either play in his favor or make this far more difficult than it needed to be.
Bazaar was a remarkably exotic word for it, but the proprietors had refused to change quite so much with the times to call it anything else. On all other counts, they had modernized. Perhaps even more than Donovan himself, given that the roof of the large building was covered in odd panels of metal and glass. He had yet to see anything like it.
The guards watched him as he strode up the steps. There was no need for the building to be handicap accessible, any infirmities from human life tended to be cured by their transformation, but there was a small ramp for the sake of appearances and to avoid any unnecessary legal issues. Namely, dealing with humans sticking their noses where they didn’t belong. He couldn't hold back the drawn out sigh that escaped his lips when one of the guards put his hand out to stop him.
“I am here to seek the services of a new assistant.” One didn’t just go around calling them slaves or servants where there might be humans around to hear.
“Do you have an appointment, sir? A reference?” The man inquired firmly. He did not look like the sort of person a human would cross. The ticking muscle in his jaw and cold stare would have suited a prison guard. Or an inmate.
“My name is Donovan Viatorem, this was rather short notice and I was unable to call ahead.” His name should still carry weight, if not his, than Ignatius'. The family name would mark them as related at the very least.
A vampire’s family name came from the originator of their line. Ignatius was the founder of their clan and from him they gained their name. Gabriel would take the name Viatorem as well, not that he knew it yet, and not that he was ready for it.
“Viatorum?” The guard repeated, his tone immediately more respectful, “I apologize, sir, but we will have to make inquiries with the director before we can authorize passage.”
Donovan nodded in understanding, “may I step inside to wait or shall I wait here?” He really had no desire to remain outside but if need be he would, it would just draw more attention to them.
“You may wait in the entry lobby,” the guard replied, gesturing to the glass double doors behind them, before promptly grabbing at a chord connected to his ear and speaking into it, “mistress, there is a short notice applicant entering the lobby. From the Viatorum line.”
The entryway was lavish, the artwork had changed over the years, was more abstract, but was otherwise unchanged. It was done in an old baroque style, a lot of gold accents, not his preferred style but it was tastefully done. He preferred a more simplistic style.
“Which one?” Donovan could barely hear her over the man’s earpiece, it spoke to how far technology had come over the years.
“Donovan Viatorum,” the guard clarified, “I have not seen him before, mistress.”
There was silence for a moment before she spoke again, “let him in, he's Ignatius’ favored childe.”
“You may enter, sir,” the guard bowed his head, “please enjoy your visit and remember that all auctions are explicitly for the purpose of service, and are therefore protected by the bazaar’s terms.”
“Of course,” he nodded in reply before moving deeper into the building.
The interior of the building was far more familiar than the outside. Several elegant tables lined the walls, with neatly arranged ledgers to allow silent bidding. Human servants stood behind the tables to facilitate easy questioning and inquiries. There were even caterers and servers with elegant trays of drinks and appetisers mingling with attendees to reduce the chances of dangerous appetites.
As it was the early evening, many of the creatures milling about were of more than just the vampiric variety, many clothed in several layers of clothing to obscure their appearance for the sake of easy movement outside. It wouldn’t do for mortals to see living proof that their nightmares lived among them.
Donovan made his way through the stands, taking in the merchandise. He preferred male servants, in the past he had possessed female ones, however there tended to be personality clashes. Females were trained differently from males, no matter how far equality between sexes had come over the centuries. Through the bustle and crowd he picked out a man, a vampire, who he was itching to get his hands on, one of those responsible for his long sleep. Braedon Walker. He had been expelled from his family for his strange proclivities and was forced to use the name associated with outcasts. He dressed and behaved the way movies portrayed vampires, complete with capes. The man, like Donovan, had not changed. At least Donovan had an excuse. Braedon did not.
It was unfortunate that the rules of the bazaar prevented him from killing Braedon right there.
“I have three left before they cut me off. How am I to be blamed for the fragility of these ten dollar humans they give us?” Braedon complained to a companion of his, he was as loud and as obnoxious as Donovan remembered.
“Ah, Braedon, you have to remember that a human is not a vampire, I'm surprised you haven't been murdered in your sleep or that you haven't been cut off completely.” Donovan said calmly, approaching the pair.
Braedon did not spin about with the graceful ease of Bella Lugosi in his prime, but rather, stumbled and nearly tripped on the end of his cape, immediate terror replacing the look of superiority normally plastered on his face.
“You!” Braedon yelped, pulling the sides of his cape inwards for protection.
Donovan smiled cruelly, “yes, Braedon, me. How good to see you again.”
“How?” He whispered back, blinking several times as if by doing so would somehow make Donovan disappear into smoke.
Love this novel? Read it on Royal Road to ensure the author gets credit.
“It matters not, all that matters is that I'm here. I do wonder, how do you go through so many servants?” He questioned, “it seems as though you haven't changed at all over the years. I was asleep, what excuse do you have for your choice in, fashion?”
“I—I—“ Braedon stammered, looking between his companion, a rather attractive Egyptian woman, and Donovan. “I am an icon of fashion,” he defended weakly, trying to recover some semblance of a backbone, “I trust you slept well.”
“As well as can be expected considering the circumstances of my,” he paused, locking eyes with him, “nap.”
“I think I should probably get going,” Braedon’s friend spoke up, taking a few steps back to distance herself from the pair, “it was—“ she paused, “—-nice meeting you again, Braedon.” She fled into the crowd before he could stop her.
Braedon huffed, watching her go, and came dangerously close to stomping a foot, “she was my ride home!” He snapped, glaring back at Donovan, though not quite meeting his eyes. Still a coward.
“I would be happy to take you home, Braedon.” He knew the other vampire would never accept but he could only hope it would be that easy.
“The others are still against you, Donovan. If you try anything funny tonight, our next trick will be far more permanent,” Braedon mumbled, trying to keep his voice down and losing any effect he might have had with his empty threat.
Donovan couldn't help but laugh, “oh, Braedon, you have made my day, I must say. You are humorous. Thank you for that. I know better than you to behave myself at the bazaar.”
Braedon growled. Actually growled, like a defensive mutt, “just keep your distance and we won’t have any problems.”
“Braedon, we already have a problem, we’ve had one ever since you decided to kill indiscriminately in my city and put me to sleep. We will continue to have problems until the day I kill you. For now, I will allow you to live, to find your latest victim, but I will not allow you to destroy a perfectly good servant so I suggest you choose one of the low cost slaves or leave until I have completed my business.”
Braedon’s mouth hung open, as if he’d lost his ability to speak. He squeezed his white-gloved fists together, eyes darting nervously about the room, finally finding his tongue after a good half minute or so, “watch your back, Donovan.” Then he attempted to gracefully slip away, tripping one or two times on the ends of his cape, effectively ruining the effect he’d been trying for.
Donovan sighed and shook his head, he would have to keep an eye on the man but first he needed to find a good servant. It seemed as if there were quite a few to choose from this evening.
There were very few ledgers on the tables where the bids did not outweigh the value of the servants and slaves available. It seemed the market had become far more competitive. Oh how very much the world had changed.
----------------------------------------
Too hungry to risk visiting with Chuck and the other hunters, Gabriel found that without Donovan in the house he had never felt more truly alone in his life. After about a day, the sound of Ruben’s heartbeat began to get to him. So he went for a drive to calm himself down. He didn’t like the old bastard, but he also didn’t want to eat him either.
It had only been a month since he’d moved in with his--what, his maker? Sire? Somehow Gabriel couldn’t quite bring himself to call Donovan ‘master’. Or anything else. Calling him a roommate or a landlord didn’t quite fit the bill either. So just Donovan’s name would have to do for now. Were they friends?
Gabriel pulled into a bar parking lot, about half an hour south of the city. This seemed about as good a place as any to go. If he was surrounded by people, he probably wouldn’t do anything stupid. He could keep his head straight. Talk to someone. Anyone.
“This is so fucked up,” he cursed, pressing his forehead to the top of his steering wheel and trying to calm his racing thoughts. Gabriel honestly didn’t know what he was going to do next, and he hated to think that now he’d have eternity to think about it.
Somehow he managed to leave his car and cross the parking lot without even really being aware of what he was doing. It sort of felt like he was on autopilot. Then he was inside, the fresh stink of old sweat and poor life choices immediately assaulting him.
He was surprised at the fact that the moment he walked through the door a young woman approached him.
“Heeeeey,” she smiled, “what's a guy like you doing here, all alone?” she flipped long, blonde hair over her shoulders, smiling at him.
“That’s--that’s a new one,” Gabriel replied humorously, giving her a quick once-over. Cheap clothes. Cheap make-up. Just old enough for a guy to feel safe driving her home, but not quite old enough not to look like she was playing dress-up. Everything was one size too tight, packing her in like a sausage casing. She could be pretty. Maybe. “Just grabbing a drink. You want one?” He added, oddly compelled to keep her close. His hand itched to grab her by the waist, but he managed to control that urge. He wasn’t 14, he could be patient.
“I would love one.” She smiled, laughing as she lightly touched his shoulder, moving closer to him. Under the body mist, he smelled something altogether more enticing, and it was all he could do not to lose control then and there. What was he doing? He had to go home, but--
“Name’s Gabe,” he offered, eyes fastened on her neckline where dark, caked-on foundation melted into creamy white skin. He was so close. She would taste like light beer and cigarettes, he told himself. Not worth biting.
“Cynthia,” she was going for sultry purr and maybe if he was drunk it would have sounded like one but it was far from it while he was sober. It sounded more like an asthmatic groan.
She wasn’t much for conversation once they were at the bar and Cynthia had her chipped nails wrapped around a frosty wine cooler, not bothering to use the glass of ice beside it. Everything she said seemed to revolve around innuendos and her sleazy ex.
Gabriel forced himself to smile and nurse at some whiskey on the rocks without really tasting it. “So do you live around here? Got family in the area?” He asked, shifting just slightly in his seat when he felt slender fingers grabbing clumsily at his thigh.
“My brother,” she huffed, “we’re estranged, he doesn't matter.” She slid closer, her lips brushing against his ear, “come on, Gabe, why don't we get out of here?”
The whole point of going for a drive had been to avoid doing anything stupid, which was exactly why he was going to responsibly escort her to the door and call a taxi. That was exactly what he was going to do. Exactly. Even when they’d reached his car, and she was sliding into the passenger seat, he was still determined to pull out his cell. Then he started the engine, and that plan pretty much went out the window.
“So where do you live?” He asked, keeping his eyes focused straight ahead. He could hear her heartbeat, now. Stronger than Ruben’s. Faster. He liked that.
“Mmm, we can go wherever you want, honey,” she slid her hand up his thigh, “do whatever you want.”
“You sure about that?” He killed the engine and thanked god for tinted windows. Nobody was outside anyway. “You can change your mind, go back inside right now and forget all about me,” he suggested, though it sounded like playful teasing. She probably didn’t hear the edge of desperation in his voice.
She giggled, sliding her hand up his thigh, “I think I like it right here.”
Gabriel closed his eyes to steady himself, which was a terrible idea. Now her heartbeat seemed even louder. More inviting. He lifted his left hand to open his door and get a breath of fresh air, but found himself gravitating towards her instead, and when he opened his eyes, the change was almost instant. Her coy smile turned into a breathless scream, blouse shredding where he gripped her, bringing his victim close enough to taste. To kill. Thank god for seat covers, hopefully Ruben could get the spill off the carpet.