Red Rainbow by G Johanson (top books of all time TXT) 📗

Florence encouraged Hilaire to fill her in on her life first. Hilaire joked darkly, “What is there to tell? Time has stood still for me, remember?”

“Politics haven’t, though. I don’t see you sitting idly by while this country goes to the dogs.”

“Why not? I have form. I didn’t do much during World War I.”

“A different war, a different enemy. It may be the same nation, but these are not Kaiser Bill’s boys.”

Hilaire could not have agreed more with her on this. “I’m guessing you recognise me more from my energy signature over my appearance.” Florence nodded vociferously at this. Hilaire knew all about her powers, the energy vampire draining her once before Hilaire defeated her – not absolutely enough, obviously, but she found herself sympathetic to her bested foe. That previous (substantial) taste Florence had taken from her allowed her to track her down, Hilaire pretty sure their meeting wasn’t down to chance. “I have changed my appearance a lot so that I’m not recognised as the last time I was here I was driven out of Paris. Me and Maxi made some waves with our resistance, here and in Marseille.”

“Good, that’s what I like to hear. I made some waves myself last week,” Florence purred.

“The theatre?” Hilaire said, putting two and two together. There were rumours afoot of a major incident there, the rumour being that a large group of German soldiers had been slaughtered. It didn’t make the press, but the general conjecture was so varied it made Hilaire suspect that supernatural forces were at play.

“Indeed. While I was the star of the show, the credit for the idea belongs to another, no longer with us, sadly, but he went out on a high on his own terms.”

“So did my sister, which is why I returned back.”

“Hmm.” Florence mulled this over and was unable to let it go. “Maxi as in Maximiliene?”

Hilaire nodded.

“Father killed her 50 years ago.”

“56 years ago, actually. It’s complicated.”

“I had a good education, the days I paid attention. Try me.”

To Florence’s credit, she picked up the complex nature of Maxi’s existence immediately. It helped that she was as far from normal as possible, a vampire in latex and sequins. She didn’t fly (though Hilaire had made her do so once), she didn’t turn into a bat, and she didn’t bite necks beyond her lovers, of which Hilaire knew there was legion. Her essence was vampiric still, Florence as needy and ruthless as Dracula when it came to draining her prey.

Florence did not disappoint when it came to regaling Hilaire with her exploits during the last 36 years. Hilaire knew about two of the marriages as she’d read about them in the papers. Six marriages, six times a widow. Her last two husbands had been younger than her, significantly so with husband number five, yet she was still standing while they were not. Florence was born wealthy, both of her parents moneyed, and her early marriages only increased the coffers. Even with her extravagant lifestyle, she hadn’t made a dent. No children, which was no surprise, not with how unhealthy she appeared. It was so strange that her appetite was insatiable, and it was obvious she feasted on energy, but she still looked like she was starving.

Like Hilaire, Florence was a recent returnee to Paris. America had been her main home, with lengthy spells in Morocco and Italy too. Her motives for coming here were, hopefully, a joke. “I find young men have the best energy, and we’ve been losing the best ones there to this. Like any predator, I follow the food.”

Hilaire stared at her, her expression inscrutable. Eventually, Florence laughed and patted her hand gently.

“Good, good. Ethics! No wonder your life’s been so dull. I do snack. While we’ve been talking I’ve nibbled on that couple down there and our waitress. Nothing they would miss, only tiny bits. I take small pieces from anyone, but I don’t feast on anybody who doesn’t deserve it. And, obviously, I don’t take from you after our last set-to, even though it’s a deep well indeed.”

“So you feasted at the theatre?” Hilaire deduced.

“87. Not a full house. Nazis all.”

Hilaire knew what Maxi would have thought, and maybe even said. German soldiers all. She saw a distinction. Hilaire leaned more towards Florence’s stance. Compassion and mercy could be extended to prisoners, but only once they were defeated and not an automatic privilege. Enemy combatants were fair game for slaughter by any means necessary.

“Well done. You can devour them ’til your heart’s content.”

“It never will be.” Florence said this jokingly, though Hilaire fancied it was true. She was the energy thief who drained through the powers of her mind. Florence’s father had a variation on the same theme, also able to consume energy from his prey. What made his crimes worse was that he consumed their energy and their flesh, Emile Cahen, society doyen, turning into a cannibalistic serial killer spared the guillotine only because of his (surviving) contacts and by lieu of madness. Brother Rollo had dealt with him as he deserved. It was impressive that Hilaire and Florence could break bread with each other and even have a strange quasi-friendship considering the bloodshed both of their families had inflicted on each other. Florence’s father killed Hilaire’s sister, Rollo killed Emile as retaliation, both crimes preceding Hilaire and Florence’s mighty clash.

Florence brought up the real reason for tracking her down as they left the restaurant. She generously offered Hilaire a room in the apartment she was staying at (which Hilaire graciously declined, unable to bear living with her, no matter how useful an ally she was), trying to tempt her by suggesting they team up for the next attack. Hilaire’s telekinetic might would shake the rats from their hidey-holes for Florence to drain with her vampiric draining abilities.

“An appealing fantasy. The soldiers are coming,” Hilaire said, reluctant to commit to such unrestrained activity. She would work with the Communist Resistance