Wallace looked at the faces before him. He recognized them. They looked so much like him. So very much, he couldn’t help but think. “Who are you? What are you doing?” the man asked.
The twin on the left smiled. “What, you don’t recognize us?” he mused.
The twin on the right shook his head. “Of course not. Recognizing us would require him to know us, would it not?”
“Good point, Pierre,” the first said, turning to face his twin.
Pierre looked back at the man standing before the twins. He looked afraid. Truly afraid. And he looked like he didn’t know what was happening. “Well,” he said, since Wallace remained silent and awestruck, “We know much about you. Trop mal pour toi.”
Wallace looked at the pair confused. The first looked at his brother with a sigh. “Tu connais qu’il ne comprend pas francais, mon frere. En englais, si’l vous plais.”
“Of course, Jacques. I misspoke. What I said is, do you know anything about us?” Pierre answered his brother with a smile.
“First, I know that’s not what you said,” Wallace replied, trying to hide his glare, “I may not speak French, but I can tell whatever you said wasn’t a polite question from intonation.” Then, he took a deep breath and continued, “Let’s see, you’re also French, or at least raised that way. Combine that with the state of your hands, I’d say you’re a free person. Probably born that way. You look a tad like me, so my money is on someone sent you here to take me out, figured you could walk by my security, no questions asked. Let me in on a little something I’ve known for longer than you’ve been around, kid: You’re going to need to be much tougher to face me.” Wallace cracked his neck.
Jacques looked at Pierre. “He really doesn’t recognize us.”
Pierre nodded. “That may well play into our favor. I mean, if he doesn’t, who would even consider it.”
“Clever. Then again, you were always the clever one.”
“Perhaps we could jog his memory. Combien de temps avant point du jour ?”
“Pas tot grand,” Jacques replied to his brother, then to Wallace, he asked, “How much do you remember of your life?”
Wallace charged across the room at the brother, swinging in for a punch with all of his strength, heightened by his time in the fields as a boy, and multiplied by his more recent supernatural nature. The fist sailed in front of Pierre’s face. Pierre grabbed the man’s wrist and wrenched it backwards, placing his palm in the way of the elder’s bicep. Wallace’s arm let out an audible crack. Pierre frowned down at the man, who was screaming in pain. “It will heal,” he told the crumpled figure.
Jacques, still smiling, shook his head. “So rude. And, you were right, if we fought fairly you would probably come out victorious. But we did not come here to fight you.” His voice resonated throughout the place, soft but firm. Wallace looked up at the twins, in pain.
Pierre glared at the pathetic figure before him. He had suspected the great Wallace to be more of a challenge. It was almost as though they hadn’t needed the training. When Wallace looked at him, Pierre spat and said, “Pay attention. Jacques, parle avec lui pour que nous se faisons.”
“My brother grows impatient,” Jacques said to the man, gesturing beside him, “But, c'est la vie. I’m more concerned with your ability to answer us. Say something, would you please?”
Wallace glared up at Jacques. The man was clearly insulting him. That would not stand. With a snarl crossing his mouth, Wallace forced out, “I am going to rip your throat out with my bare hands and feast on your entrails and …”
Jacques cut him off as Wallace reached the word entrails. “Excellent. So you can talk. Perhaps my question was too vague, then. What say you, Pierre.”
“He did live over two score. That is a lot of time to remember.” Pierre’s demeanor towards the man did not waver.
Jacques nodded. “I see. How much do you remember of the day you died?” he asked, still smiling.
Wallace’s anger was replaced by confusion. “Why do you care?” he asked.
Pierre, still looking grim, shrugged. “Je prefere nous manger toi ce soir, ne pas attendre pour jour. Jacques veut connaitre.”
Jacques’s smile faded as he shrugged as well. “Call it curiosity.”
“Well,” Wallace began, “It was when I first came into French territory. Fled here from out east. See, I’d heard rumor of free people like me, wandering the towns mostly unhassled. I figured it would be a good place to lie low. I arrived at a town out in the bayou. I couldn’t tell you its name. Spent the day there and a young woman and her parents took pity on me. Took me into their house. And that’s as much as I remember. I woke up the next day face down in the swamp, my throat sore and my body racked with an unquenchable hunger. That’s all I remember.”
Jacques nodded. “Tres intéressant,” he said.
Peirre looked at Jacques. “Oui. C’est la même chose que ce qu'a dit grand-mère.”
Jacques nodded at his brother. “I’m quite sorry. Unless there is anything more?”
“More? Sorry? You’ve gone back to not making sense,” Wallace said, slowly standing up. His arm was still in pain, but he felt like her might be able to use it in a pinch.
Jacques looked like he was about to speak, but Pierre placed a hand on his brother’s chest. “Permets moi, mon frère.” Then, turning blankly towards Wallace, Pierre said, “You must understand, you hold influence, but are floundering. You are inept at running an empire. And your ineptitude puts us at risk, your existence puts us at risk.”
“So, you’ll just kill me? Guess what. This district would be thrown into chaos. I am the only thing keeping our kind unified around here. Killing me just puts you in more danger,” Wallace scolded the twins.
“Couldn’t agree more, monsieur,” Pierre said, “That’s why we chose instead to do the opposite.”
“What?” Wallace replied, puzzled. He was trying to figure out these two’s game, but he couldn’t.
Pierre stared through the man. “We erased all traces of our own existence. Then, we will remove you from the equation, and take your place. You yourself pointed out how similar we appear.”
Wallace laughed at that idea. “No one will believe you,” he said, “You’re too French to be me.”
Jacques smiled again at Wallace. “He does sound very French,” he said, perfectly mimicking Wallace’s accent and speech patterns, “But he is not what you would call a people person.”
Wallace pulled a knife out of his shirt, a wild look in his eyes. “You’re not going to get the chance to kill me. Not today. And I’m going to warn all of my people about the imposters and…”
Pierre, for the first time in the entire conversation, broke his grim demeanor. A wicked, chilling laugh erupted from his lips. “He is really more foolish than we thought,” he mused aloud, then to Wallace, he posited, “Have you truly not figured out our ploy yet?”
“Doesn’t matter,” Wallace said, “You are just as vulnerable to pain as vampires as you were when you were alive. So, you best leave.”
“Of course,” Jacques said, “Marche avec moi, mon frère.” He walked past his brother and to the door.
Pierre followed his brother out. Standing in the doorway, he turned one final time to face Wallace. “Despite everything that is about to happen,” he said in his monotonous voice, “It was interesting meeting you, grand-père.” And with that, he flicked a match over towards the wall that he and his twin had been standing earlier. A massive flame erupted from the ground, and lit a series of small trails, leading into the wall. Pierre shut the door, and held it closed. He listened as the eastern wall of the room exploded, allowing the light of the rising sun to stream into the room. HE listened as Wallace screamed in pain as he burnt until there was nothing but dust away in the wind. Pierre then ducked into the nearby closet as footsteps approached.
Jacques stood in the hall, at the door to the study. Several young vampires, about Jacques and Pierre’s own ages, approached him. The one in the front, a young man, stopped upon seeing Jacques’s face. “Sir,” he said, formally, “Are you alright? We heard screaming.”
Jacques looked at the man. “No,” he said, a perfect replication of Wallace’s voice, “I am not alright. My security is abysmal.”
“What do you mean?” asked the man, “We take all proper precautions, I personally kept an eye on everyone coming and going tonight. Everything was fine.”
Jacques walked over to the large doorway and opened it up. “Does this look fine to you?” he asked. Lying on the ground, a small pile of ash rapidly dispersing into the wind, was Wallace. Unidentifiable. “Some intruder got in. I had to use one of my emergency protocols to take him out.” Pulling out a flintlock pistol from under his coat with his right hand, he shot the leading man in the chest. He screamed in pain. “You are no longer in charge of my security,” he said. Pierre had given him a name. Camille Paquet. The group had only one woman. She roughly fit the description Pierre had lain out. “You, Camille, will take his place.”
One of the other men began to speak. “Hey, some of us have worked here years longer, we deserve–”
His voice was cut off by a second gunshot, replaced by more screams of pain. Removing his left hand from his coat, he dropped a second pistol onto the ground. “Any other objections?” he asked. When there was no response, he dropped down to a crouch. “Do not fret, friends. You are still valued and will live. But you will both have to work your way back up from the bottom.” Then he stood back up and smiled at the remaining people. “Now,” he said, “Camille, call the builders. I’d like my study clean by tonight.” He waved his hand dismissively. The young vampires all left, save the two gut-shot ones. Looking down at them, Jacques added, “That includes you.” They looked up at him, and in fear, began to crawl away.
Once he decided the two were far enough, Pierre opened the closet door. “Comment tu sent, Wallace ?”
“Tres bien, Wallace,” Jacques replied, “et toi ?”
“Bien,” Pierre said with a smile, the first real smile of the day, “C’est temp de planifier.”
Jacques chuckled, “Il y a le frère que j’aime.”
Pierre heard footsteps nearing and put a finger to his lips. After they passed, he added, “And Wallace really needs to learn French.”