An Assassin and an Artist

Chapter 1Marin Deschamps checked to be certain no one could see him and then teleported into a tunnel beneath the city. From there, he silently walked down it until he came to the time-worn granite stones that formed what appeared to be a solid wall at the tunnel’s end. He listened for any sounds which would tell him someone else might be close by, either making use of the tunnel for their own purposes, or searching for him. The latter was unlikely, but possible nonetheless. Hearing nothing but the slow drip of water leaking through a miniscule crack in the ceiling and the scurrying feet of rats disturbed by his presence, he knew it was safe to enter his private tunnel. He did so, teleporting to the far side of the wall. This area was one that few people had seen, even during the days of Prohibition or when various underground tunnels had been created in the late eighteenth century to allow wealthy men to visit houses of prostitution without anyone being the wiser. Obviously, no normal man could have done what he had, but then Marin was far from normal. Not that he would admit it to any but one or two his closest acquaintances. His senses were ten times as acute as any human’s, his strength rivaled that of heroes out of myth, and his abilities were, well, supernatural. But then so was he. While he could have, and usually did, teleport directly to his house, he rather enjoyed using the tunnels from time to time. They reminded him of his past—his youth and his heritage—and what had led him to the city he now called home. * * * * He had been a mere lad when, late one night, his parents took him to a clearing deep within the forest that surrounded their town. “There is much you need to know about who you are, my son,” his father said once he made certain they had not been followed. “Things you must never reveal to any human as they would surely kill you if they knew.” “Any human? But we are humans, Father.” “I am,” his father replied. “However, I am also a healer with some skill in the magical arts, although no one, including my patients, is aware of that. You know what would happen should the priests find out there is more to my healing abilities than being able to mix potions and powders, and make poultices to cure the sick and wounded. They would sooner burn me at the stake than let me continue to live in their midst.” Marin looked at him in dismay, although not with the horror that others in the town would have. “You have taught me to accept that magic exists in the world, but you? You have the power to use it?” “Yes, my son, and in time I shall teach you to as well if you desire to become a healer.” His mother spoke up, then. “That is one half of what you are, a lad with the potential to use magic which is in your heritage. The other has to do with me and what I am.” She took his hands. “You have heard stories of creatures that have the ability to become animals.” Marin nodded in reply. “Myths, fairytales, told to frighten children so they will not wander into the forest and get lost.” “They are not myths, Marin. I am one of those, a woman who can become a cat.” She smiled. “A rather large one at that. A panther, as you shall see in a moment.” She walked to the center of the clearing and then it wasn’t her standing there. It was a beautiful black panther. Marin sprang to his feet with a cry of horror, ready to flee even though he understood deep in his being that the animal was still his mother, who loved him as he loved her. His father gripped his shoulder to keep him where he was. “She is as beautiful in that form as she is when she is human. Not a thing to be feared, although I will admit the first time I saw her do that I was terrified, just as you are at the moment.” His father smiled as the panther approached, and then ran his hand over the length of her from head to tail. She purred low, her amber gaze, which matched Marin’s own, locked on him. Very tentatively, he reached out, stroking her head, and her purr deepened. Then…she was his mother again. “How?” Marin touched her skirt. “You were not…It vanished when you…you changed, but now you are fully clothed again.” “The word is ‘shifted’,” his father said. “As with all shifters, she has the ability to think of being clothed when she returns to her human form. Can you imagine how embarrassing it would be if they couldn’t, especially for the females?” Marin couldn’t help but laugh, which he suspected when he thought back on that night was what his father had intended. “I really did see you shift,” he said to his mother in amazement. “It was not some…some bit of magic that father used to…” “To what end, Marin? To make a fool of you? Why would he do such a thing?” his mother replied, hugging him tightly. “No reason, I suppose.” Marin stepped back to look at her. “Will I be able to do that, as I am your son?” “Yes. When you reach your eighteenth year I will help you to bring out the innate panther within you, but not until then. It is not possible until you reach your majority.” “In the meantime, I shall teach you how to become a healer as well as how to use healing magic, but only for good,” his father told him. “It is unfortunate but—” he scowled, “—there are some magic workers, wizards and sorcerers, who use it for evil, to enhance their power over those they consider lesser beings or to fill their coffers by working for evil men. That is why we are feared and scorned, despite the good most of us could do were we allowed.” “I would never harm a living being with magic,” Marin protested. “I would certainly hope not.” His father gave him a hug and then suggested they walk for a while to give Marin a chance to assimilate all he had found out about what his parents were…and what he would become should the Fates allow. As good as her word, soon after Marin turned eighteen his mother taught him all he needed to know to shift successfully. Before then, his father taught him all that he could about the healing arts, as well as instructing him in how magic, used judiciously, could enhance them. There were spells he refused to teach Marin. “If, the gods forbid, you were to follow the path of evil, it is possible to use magic to create or strengthen illnesses or wounds in order to kill a victim, rather than cure him.” “I wouldn’t…” “I believe you believe that,” his father replied. “However, until you are much older and wiser in the ways of men, it is best that you don’t know those spells. I would not want you to use one to destroy someone you thought deserved it because you considered them your enemy. Do you understand?” “Yes, Father, I do.” * * * * When he reached the age of twenty-five, war came to Aquitaine and Marin joined the side of the lords who supported Pepin II as their king. He promised his parents he would return home, unscathed if at all possible. Given that he could teleport away from true danger, he was certain it would happen. All would have gone well for him, he later supposed, if he had not fallen in battle before he could teleport away, lying on the field so close to death he was unable to summon up the strength to save himself. Only the presence of Baptiste Guillot kept him from ending up in some unmarked grave close to the battle field. As Marin found out, much to his horror at first, Baptiste was a vampire. An Old one he said, as he was well over two-thousand years of age at the time he found Marin and took him to his estate. There, he turned him into a vampire, too, to save his life. “It would not do to lose a man with such potential,” he had explained once the days of agony were over and Marin was able to comprehend exactly what he had become. “Potential?” Marin said, pretending he didn’t know what Baptiste meant. “My dear Child, I was well aware of what you are long before your final fight. Unbeknownst to you, I watched you from the moment you joined the side of the nobles. I will be the first to admit I was hoping for what happened. Despite the fact you are aware of those who must hide their secret sides from the human population, being one of them yourself, I was uncertain if you would willingly join me and mine if asked.” Marin agreed that was unlikely. “Still, you might have given me a chance to say yea or nay.” “I would have, had things not worked out the way they have.” Some weeks later, when he had fully recovered from his turning and after Baptiste had begun teaching him what he needed to know as a Fledgling vampire; Marin realized that something was different from what little he’d believed about the creatures he had only heard of in myths. “Why can you go out during the daylight hours? Why can I, when the sun is rising or setting? I was of the belief that sunlight kills us.” “For most vampires, it does. However, apart from the fact that I am quite old enough that sunlight would only bother me a bit around midday; I am also what is known as a daywalker. Because you are my Child, you have inherited that ability as well, although it will only evidence itself when the sun is not at its zenith. While you will be safe enough anytime other than then, it will be a while before I am willing to allow you to go out of doors for any length of time during the day.” Marin was elated by that news. “When it happens, I can return to my town and my parents and resume my normal life.” He frowned. “Well, if I can devise an explanation as to why I never leave the house during the middle of the day. That should be easy enough if I put some thought into it.” Baptiste laughed heartily. “Only if you want to send your parents to an early grave and have the townsfolk believing they are seeing a ghost. The news of your death in battle has already spread through the town. Your parents were, of course, devastated. They erected a memorial to you in the graveyard, mentioning your bravery in glowing terms.” “That’s not fair!” “You will find that much in your life will seem unfair at first but it is the way of it. In time you will come to accept what you cannot change, I promise.” * * * * Baptiste had been correct, and now, a thousand years later, Marin was free to live his life in a way that satisfied both him and his Sire. By the end of his year of tutelage, something required of every new vampire before they were allowed out in the world on their own, they discovered something that amazed even Baptiste—Marin was already able to withstand full daylight. Baptiste put it down to the fact that Marin had the blood of a shifter running through his veins which strengthened his daywalker ability—as well as that from his father who had passed down the ability to use magic for healing. Of course that didn’t mean he could go home again, even to be there for his mother when his father was murdered at the hands of priests who had discovered that he used magic to enhance his healing abilities. That event, which happened several years after his turning, set Marin on a new path once he had avenged his father’s death by killing the priests involved. He discovered that he had a knack for assassination and soon hired out to noblemen who needed his skills. While Baptiste made it quite clear that he did not approve, he did nothing to stop him and, in fact, gave him shelter when needed. As the years passed into a century, and then into another and another, Marin learned to use the new weapons that came into being. His vampire abilities, inherent and inherited, strengthened, as did his healing magic. He was careful with the last, remembering his father’s words—that it was meant for good, not evil—and only used it when he found someone who desperately needed his help. Eventually, he tired of being an assassin for hire, although there was plenty of work, even in the New World of the Americas. Instead, he became a soldier, again, fighting with the revolutionaries in the war against England, and then on the side of the Union in the War Between the States. There were other, smaller wars and he was there for them until the near the end of the nineteenth century when he traveled west in search of a new life. “I’m tired,” he told Baptiste, who had come late to the States, also in search of something new and different after the tragic death of his long-time lover, Reynaud. “I’m tired of death, of seeing good men die while evil ones live on, of being a part of it, never certain I’ve chosen the right side.” “Then do something about it.” “I intend to. Somewhere out there,” Marin waved his hand toward the west-facing window of the home he’d purchased a few years previously. “Somewhere out there is a place where I can feel at home. I only have to find it.” He did, when he arrived in Denver. It was a bustling city, made more so by the discovery of silver in the mountains to the west. Grand buildings took up full city blocks, and the millionaires were erecting mansions to rival anything that could be found east of the Mississippi. Houses of prostitution were rife in the city and Marin found work in one as an enforcer, willing to do whatever was necessary to protect the house from business rivals who wanted to add the women to their holdings by destroying the house and its owners, if that’s what it took. He also protected the prostitutes from men who wanted more from them than a short bit of s****l relief. That was how he learned about the underground tunnels, which he put to good use hustling one or another of his charges to safety, at least for the evening. When, after the Great War and at the beginning of Prohibition, the KKK gained strength in Denver, Marin used his well-honed weapons skills and his shifter and vampire abilities to safeguard the immigrants who became their targets and to kill their tormentors whenever possible—all without anyone knowing he was responsible. Once again I have become an assassin, although not one for hire at the moment. He found the idea ironic, but something to consider for the future should the need arise where he wanted something to keep him occupied, to counter the boredom and ennui that came from being so long-lived. Unlike Baptiste, who was enamored of the wealthy life and all that was part of it, Marin preferred something simpler. While Baptiste, when he eventually came west, had purchased one of the city’s mansions, Marin had found a much different home. He discovered it, late in the nineteen thirties, while exploring the tunnels, looking for somewhere new and safe to live for a while should he need to go to ground for whatever reason. The space he came upon had, he suspected, been used by a bootlegger to store his product during Prohibition, if the few bottles he found under a fallen shelf was any indication. He began to clear the area of debris, and expanded it as well, using his great strength—both shifter and vampiric—to tear down one wall and dig deeper into the earth behind it, thus creating a decent living area for the short-term. During his labors, he uncovered fallen stairs that had once led up to a trapdoor. He found a crack to mist through, ending up in a storeroom in the basement of what turned out to be a modest and at the time vacant house north of downtown Denver in what was known as Highland. It was an area he was quite familiar with from his days protecting immigrants from the KKK. While it wasn’t in the best of shape, it was the right size for a single male who planned on remaining so, as he had been since he was old enough to even contemplate finding a mate and starting a family. Given what he was—all three parts of him as he thought of it—that was not and never had been an option, his shifter’s desires to the contrary. He quickly learned that the house was for sale, and soon after contacting the Realtor he bought it, paying the full asking price with no problem, much to the Realtor’s shock. If he only knew, Marin chuckled to himself as he handed over the money. He had, over the many years he’d existed, amassed a rather large fortune, much of it stashed away in varying banking institutions across the country. With the house now his, the first step was to eliminate any vestiges of the entrance from the tunnel to the house and his new hideout below it. He had no need of the trapdoor or the already destroyed stairs as he could teleport between the two areas, so he removed them, replacing the trapdoor with bricks to match the rest of the tunnel’s roof. The second step was creating a solid granite wall to hide the tunnel’s entrance from anyone who might take it upon themselves to explore the area—and too many people did in his opinion. That the tunnels existed was a well-known fact and it piqued the interest of many a young man hoping to discover hidden treasures rumored to have been left behind by those who had created or used them for less than legal reasons. With both those chores finished, Marin began the task of turning the house into his home. It took time and a great deal of labor but in the end he had a place that even Baptiste said was worth the effort. Over the years, the house had changed hands several times. Not in reality, however, as the new owner was always Marin—or as the neighbors believed his son or nephew or some other male relation. At the moment he was the ‘grandson’ who had inherited the house when his grandfather had, as he told the only neighbor who seemed interested, “moved down to Florida to live out his remaining days in a retirement community, enjoying the sun, if not the occasional hurricanes.”