By J. M. Allison
“Too far.”
Bang. Bang. Bang.
I sped up to the portrait gallery.
“Nope.” Victor muttered to himself as he raised the hammer.
Bang. Bang—
I snatched the tool from his grasp.
He spun, his expression shifting from annoyance to welcome. “Jean-Luc!”
I glowered back. “Why, pray tell, are you banging holes in my walls?”
“I’m hanging a portrait!”
I glanced at the paintings and antiques lining the walls. To the human observer, a chronology of my ancestors and heirlooms. In reality, souvenirs of my many lifetimes.
“I discovered this beauty in an old mansion and thought you might enjoy having a new face to admire.”
I snatched up the portrait and froze. I knew that face. He had golden hair and strong features. His attire betrayed him as a member of 1890s aristocracy.
I’d spent that decade in London. A brief respite while Victor galivanted around Europe.
His name was a color. Black. Or perhaps Slate?
“We’re not hanging this in my portrait gallery.”
“You’re only saying that because you haven’t seen it up on the wall.” Victor seized the golden frame and hefted it onto the hook he’d installed. “Voila!” He stepped back and yanked open the drapes. Sunlight burst through the gloom to spotlight his new acquisition.
I hissed at him as I leapt away from the deadly rays. “A little warning.”
Victor shrugged an apology then issued a lengthy string of curses.
The subject of the portrait no longer resembled a handsome gentleman but reminded me of a demon, with a cruel sneer, malicious eyes, and a twisted body.
“What is that? I selected a Hallward original!” Victor glared at me.
“Didn’t you authenticate it before purchasing?” I folded my arms.
“It’s hardly my fault!”
“Well, I’m not allowing it to remain there.”
“I quite agree.” Victor threw the drapes closed and the portrait reverted to feature the handsome gentleman. He yanked the picture down and stomped to the far end of the gallery. “We’ll hang it over here, safe from the sunlight’s effects.”
“What?” I chased after him. “You’re not—”
Rapraprap.
We paused at the sharp knock on our front door.
“Put the portrait down. Don’t touch the hammer. I’ll see to our uninvited guest. You dispose of that.” I fixed Victor with a stern glare then sped downstairs.
I wrenched open the large Gothic doors and froze. Gray. That was his name. The golden-haired man of the portrait stood before me.
His eyes widened and his mouth hung open. “You!”
“Mister Gray.” I inclined my head.
His mouth snapped shut, and he glanced nervously around. “Mister Beaufoy. Apologies for the intrusion, but I believe… you have something of mine. I must insist upon its return.”
I stepped aside and ushered Gray in. “I see.” I led the way to the portrait gallery.
“Apologies again, but I’m afraid…” The echo of Gray’s footsteps drifted into silence behind me. “Is this how you do it?”
I glanced back to find him studying my many portraits, a hungry gleam in his blue eyes.
“They’re exquisite. I’ve only one, but this… a medieval knight to carry your violent tendencies.” He pointed to a tempera portrait from my time in Aragon. “A portrait of yourself in Casanova’s lair to shoulder any baser desires.” He stepped closer to examine my Watteau still-life done in the early 1700s. “Stunning.”
“Jean-Luc?” Victor approached, his voice quiet.
I raised one hand, forestalling further questions. Over one hundred years later, Gray should be dead by now, yet he looked exactly the same. If his insinuations about my collection were any indication, perhaps his condition related to his portrait. Interesting.
“I suspected you might be… like me, when we first met. But to learn your secret… Quite exciting.” Gray wandered the hall, muttering to himself. “Imagine if Basil could paint this many of me. The curse could be dispersed…”
“Mister Gray, I present my associate, Victor Hale. Victor, Mister Dorian Gray.” The two bowed to each other, habits of a long-gone era not forgotten. “Mister Gray is here to reclaim his portrait.”
“Afraid that’s not possible, dear chap.” Victor smiled, his lips curling in an unspoken warning.
Gray returned Victor’s glare. “Afraid I must insist.”
“It’s unwise to insist on anything in a vampire’s house.” Victor stepped forward, his posture relaxed, but his tone and red glare giving the action a menacing aire.
A greedy curiosity lit Gray’s eyes. “A vampire! Fascinating!”
“Uninvited guests always stay for dinner.” Victor snarled, fangs on full display.
Gray shuffled back, blood draining from his face. His eyes danced between his portrait and Victor. “Unfortunately, I must decline.” He lunged for his portrait.
Victor grabbed Gray by the arm and swung him around, sending our guest tumbling toward me. I deflected Gray’s fall, depositing him on the floor at my feet. Gray scrambled up, fists ready before him.
“This isn’t—” I raised my hands in front of me, palms out.
He swung.
I sidestepped.
He punched again, overcommitting and stumbling forward.
I dodged.
“That’s right, Jean-Luc,” Victor cheered from the sidelines. “Show no mercy!”
Gray spun, then tripped, pitching headlong into the wall.
“So much for settling this like gentlemen,” Gray sneered.
He ripped one of my portraits from the wall and flung it at Victor, then snatched up my fifteenth-century Ming vase from its display pedestal and hurled it at the far end of the gallery.
I dove for the vase as Victor leapt out of the way of the canvas. The delicate blue and white China whispered through my fingers and shattered across the marble floor.
Heat surged through me. I spun toward Gray, fangs bared, only to find the hallway empty and his portrait gone. Racing footsteps echoed from the main stairwell, followed by the slam of our front door.
Victor stood gazing at the now bare wall. “You really should hang something here. Add some life to the space.”
I took a deep breath. “Already considered that. Unfortunately, you no longer qualify as living.”
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
This was such a great interpretation of Dorian Gray. The Vampire touch felt so natural. Loved the bit of action and fang bearing! A very fun read!
Thank you! Every vampire story deserves some good old-fashioned fang bearing.🧛
aaah, the ‘ol toss-a-Ming-vase-and-escape trick. I use it all the time. It works so well, I’ve become accustomed to bringing a Ming vase or two with me to parties for when I need to make my exit.
I was sorely tempted to have Victor look at the shards, slap Jean-Luc on the back and say “No worries, it’s a fake! You can tell by the cross-section.” But only so much fits in 1,000 words, and Victor’s not that old. Thanks for reading!
…you’re telling me I can use fake Ming vases? I’ve been shattering these priceless historic artifacts wily-nily for no reason??!
The tricks and tips you learn from reading!
If you’re looking for more of my stories. Check out my website: jmallisonauthor.com.
Excellent use of dialog.
Thank you! I always find dialogue the most fun to write.
A fun twisty take on Dorian Gray, and vampires. Well done, with lots of great lines.
I’m pleased you enjoyed it. Thanks for reading!🙂
Exciting pairing of the Ageless and the Vampiric. I enjoy reading meet-ups.
So much fun!! And wow, a spectacular last line😂 These sassy vampires are my favorite. Bravo as always!!!
I love your stories! A unique and hilarious combination of vampire and narcissist!😂
Ahhh! This was so great!