The New Tailor

“Dead?” Ethan asked incredulously. “He was a young man!”

The clerk nodded sadly, “Yes, sir. But..well, sir, he was eight-four.” The clerk looked from Brit to Ethan again wondering. The clerk's grandfather had retired except for this one client.

Ethan fell silent. Could so many years really have passed? He sighed with the added disappointment of the inconvenience. “Modern tailors have no sense of…” Ethan paused while thinking of many ways to end his sentence. Style. Quality. Design. All fit, he thought sourly. Manners, he reminded himself. “My deepest sympathies. Your grandfather was most talented and my family shall miss his services.” Ethan stood in the shop and slid his arm around Brit as if unsure what else to say or do. It was just a few years, he thought again as an uncomfortable feeling grew inside of him.

Brit whispered, “You are squeezing me too tightly.” In fact, Ethan was all but crushing her to him.

The clerk shifted uncomfortably. “Perhaps my cousin might help. She is a quite talented seamstress. Allow me to offer her card.” He went to the back leaving Ethan and Brit standing near the door. Ethan caressed Brit’s hair still not saying a word as he watched her with an odd expression. The young man returned with a card. “Her name is Destany Laval and I think you may be quite pleased with her.” Taking the card, Ethan thanked the clerk and again offered his condolences before escorting Brit out of the shop.

“Most unfortunate,” said Ethan. Brit agreed expressing sadness over the old man’s passing. She didn’t seem to recall that the tailor would stick her with pins when she did not hold still. Flipping the card with his fingers, Ethan checked the time. “Let’s see where this shop is, shall we? We have a bit of time prior to returning to the city.” They walked down a street from the more fashionable district and turned down a small, dark side road. Ethan stopped at the head of the road and observed a moment before walking down to the address on the card. The inside was well-lit and both could see a woman working inside. “I hope she is unarmed,” Ethan said with a wink as he tapped on the door.

After a brief exchange of who they were and why they had come, the woman opened the door. She was curious about the man for whom her grandfather had continued his trade long after retirement. Brit admired the girl’s gregarious nature finding her pleasant smile a welcome contrast from the dour old tailor. Ethan explained styles that he preferred and asked Destany whether she had samples of her work. She showed him several photographs of her original works that had a decidedly steampunkish twist on the more Victorian designs. Looking to Brit’s outfit, Destany suggested a more modern approach to her grandfather’s style.

“If I wanted modern, I’d take Brit to the local mall,” Ethan responded flatly as he sorted through the patterns. Destany’s eyes hinted a flash of temper as she showed the remainder of her outfits. Then she casually mentioned that she did have all of her grandfather’s patterns, but she fully intended to update them to suit her own style.

Ethan mused over her words preparing to leave. Destany said, “My grandfather was working on this piece. I believe it may have been for you. I finished it, of course.”

Ethan turned to see a pristine white nightgown. It was Victorian in style with the hand-crocheted lace dripping from the wrists like icing. He had not ordered the piece, but he found it pretty. “Wrap it up for me, please.” He remained giving the patterns a second look while chatting about something for Brit more suited to summertime.

Destany wrapped it and made several mental notes. While listening, she silently observed the man and remembered all that her grandfather had told her. She knew of the mysterious city where the odd couple lived. Watching their interaction, she never had believed her grandfather before. A man who did not age and his recent companionship of a girl who seemed new by comparison. Vampire, was what her grandfather had said. She had heard of them and even thought she had met a few. But observing Ethan with Brit, she was sure the rumors were true. “Allow me to take your lady’s measurements to be sure there is no change.” As she measured Brit, she saw clearly the marks on her neck. All so very curious. The couple took the nightgown and promised to return when they returned to town.

Upon returning to the city, Ethan woke seeing Brit waiting in their resting place. Giving her the nightgown, he said, “I would very much like seeing you wear this tonight.” Brit had already showered and put it on. He turned her slowly thinking she looked as if she had just stepped from a hundred years ago. Setting her before him, he pulled her hair through the boar’s bristles as he brushed her hair until it crackled. He tore a new white linen handkerchief and arranged her hair with white bows. She giggled as he studied her like an artist would his canvas. Using the brushes from the make-up kit, he touched Brit’s face with color bringing out features to make the most of the room’s low light.

“Would you like to go out tonight?” she asked.

“I wish to stay in,” Ethan replied. He watched her silently. His fingers touching her hair, the bows, and trailing to her neck where his bite marks stayed visible. Brit asked a few more questions, but his responses were quiet and his caresses were slow. He touched the soft lace on her wrists and crumpled the fabric of the sleeve between his fingertips. The feel of the brushed cotton was soft and supple and warm from her body. Brit looked enchanting and responded to his touches by kissing him lightly.

“You rarely get anything for yourself,” she lisped.

Grinning, he continued to explore the gown and the form beneath it. “Don’t be so sure about that,” he said as he pulled her possessively closer. Brushing her hair aside, he bit into her neck drinking heavily in long, slow gulps. Brit could hear the blood flowing into his mouth. He turned his head slightly to deepen the bite and tightened his grip on her as he pulled her to him for another slow drink.

“You are squeezing me too tightly,” she whispered barely able to breath.

He drank one more pull before releasing her neck after healing the wounds, and only then reluctantly loosened his grip. No apology but soft kisses before he opened his wrist and pressed it to her lips. She drank slowly nestled in his arms. He took the time to touch her hair, bows, and stroke her body through the fabric. His mind went to the dead tailor and the granddaughter. He thought that Brit, clad in Victorian-styled Egyptian cotton, felt extra-good to hold. Kissing her after healing his wrist, he said, “I believe I shall contact that tailor again to see what else she can make.”