Then he opens the curtains, sunlight flooding through. Actually, when my eyes adjust, I realize it’s overcast, but the light feels like I’m standing on the surface of the sun.
“Take a look,” he says, staring out the window.
I walk over to him, wincing, until I’m right beside him.
I gasp.
We’re right across the street from Alamo Square, the famous Painted Ladies just to the left. Which would make this house…
“Oh my god,” I cry out. “We’re in the Charles Manson house.”
The Westerfeld House is a San Francisco institution, steeped in lore. I always loved walking past it, imagining the spooky-looking Victorian belonged to a modern-day Addams Family. Guess I was right. Though it has a storied past, one man is supposed to own it, fixing it up slowly to eventually turn it into a museum.
“Just rumors,” Wolf says good-naturedly. “Manson never actually lived here.”
“But he came here, didn’t he?”
“He did.”
“And you lived here.”
Wolf glances at me, but doesn’t say a word.
“So you knew Charles Manson.” If I had pearls to be clutched, I would be clutching them. “My god. Is…he a vampire?” I mean, he compelled those people to do his bidding, didn’t he?
“A vampire would never allow themselves to be caught,” Wolf says. “So, no. Manson was just a human sociopath. And I didn’t go out of my way to hang out with him, either. He could be funny at times, but there was something about him that made me uneasy. Obviously we all know why now. We’ve had a lot of people passing in and out of this house over the years, not all of them good.”
I lean against the window, staring at the world that’s moving on without me. Then I notice the window is open just a crack, and that there’s an older couple walking beneath the window, two stories down. Tourists.
It’s a long shot but…
I quickly reach down and push the window up, sticking my head outside, the fresh air a shock to my system.
“Help!” I scream, waving my hands out, knowing that Wolf is going to grab me at any moment, possibly hurt me, but I can’t be passive anymore. “Help me, please, I’m being held hostage!”
But the people pass by without looking up at me. In fact, no one in Alamo Square has looked in my direction, even though it’s chock full of tourists checking out the Painted Ladies and re-enacting the opening to Full House.
“Help, please!’ I scream louder, panic raging through me. Why is no one looking?
“Hey,” Wolf says, grabbing me by the waist as I attempt to crawl out the window, preventing me from jumping. I’d probably survive the fall; it would be better than being in here.
He pulls me back in and then grabs my wrists, holding me in place. Like Absolon, his strength is formidable, and trying to escape now would mean some broken bones. “You might want to keep your voice down,” he says gruffly. “You’ll wake up Ezra, and you don’t want to be around that fucker when he’s sleep-deprived. He turns into such a whiny bitch.”
“Everything okay?” A woman’s voice breaks through us, making me jump.
Wolf lets go of one wrist, but keeps a stronghold on the other as we turn to face the door.
There’s a woman standing in the doorframe, though she can’t be much older than me. Late twenties maybe?
Either way, she’s absolutely gorgeous. Wearing stilettos, black leather leggings, an oversized blue velvet blazer with a white silk blouse underneath, unbuttoned enough to showcase a black lacey bra, her breasts full and pushed to the high heavens. Her skin is honey-colored, her hair black, wavy, and shiny enough to be in a Pantene Pro-V commercial. Eyes tinged violet. She looks like a modern, young Elizabeth Taylor.
Wolf’s grip on my wrist tightens. I can’t tell if he’s trying to protect me from her or the other way around.
She’s definitely a vampire, isn’t she?
“Amethyst,” Wolf says, clearing his throat, his body tensing slightly, which makes me tense in return. Also, Amethyst? Of course she’d have that name. “I guess you haven’t met Lenore yet.”
“No, I haven’t,” she says, eyeing Wolf’s grip on my wrist. Then she looks to me. “I’d shake your hand, but I have a feeling that’s not a good idea.”
I frown. Wait. Is she afraid of…me?
And that’s when it hits me.
Her smell.
Like candied ginger and vanilla and something very sweet and real and raw.
Blood.
Her blood.
I can smell her goddamn blood.
My teeth feel like they’re growing, my body coiling like a snake ready to strike, the thirst inside me bursting through the dark well I kept it buried under.
I make a move for her, feeling only the need to slash and bite and feed.
But Wolf’s grip is strong and he wraps an arm around my waist, holding me against him. “There’s the bloodlust,” he says. “I was wondering when it might show up.”
“I see,” Amethyst says, raising a perfectly micro-bladed brow. “I trust you have her under control then, because I haven’t been bitten by one of your trophies yet, and I’m not about to start.”
Her words knock some sense into me.
They temper the frenzy in my gut, the ravenous hunger.
I don’t like being referred to as a trophy.
And if she hasn’t been bitten…does that mean she’s not a vampire?
“If you’re wondering, Amethyst is just a human. One we’re very lucky to have in the house,” Wolf explains. “Unfortunately, it means you’ll have to get through your bloodlust first before you can properly get acquainted.”
“You look like a vampire,” I manage to say, my heart calming, and I relax into Wolf’s hold on me.
“So I’ve been told,” she says with a light laugh. “But my skin is a touch too dark. Sun damage, you know. Probably should wear SPF more often but…” She shrugs. Then eyes me up and down. “I can’t believe they have you wearing a nightgown. Let me guess, it’s from the 1800s or some bullshit?”
Wolf’s turn to shrug. “You know how archaic Solon is. He’s actually out right now…”
He trails off so I have no idea what he’s about to say, but Amethyst does. Her eyes widen briefly. “Oh. Is that so?” She glances at a flashy watch on her wrist. “I’m going to go help him. I don’t trust his taste sometimes. I mean, look at her. When’s the last time we had someone that looked like that in this place?”
“You better hurry,” Wolf says. “Lots to do tonight.”
“You don’t have to tell me twice,” she says, heading for the door. She looks at me over her shoulder. “Nice to meet you, Lenore. I’ll see you later.”
Then she’s gone.
It’s only after a few seconds have passed that Wolf lets go of me.
“Well, that could have been a disaster,” he muses.
“Why, because you thought I’d eat her?” I ask as I turn to face him, shuddering at the words leaving my mouth.
“You said it, not me,” he says, running a hand through his hair.
“And you’re the full-fledged vampire here,” I tell him. “How come you had so much restraint?”
“Because Amethyst lives here. You get used to her … it’s not so hard to stop viewing some people as prey.”
“She lives here,” I repeat. “Absolon hates humans. This must drive him…”
“Batty?”
“I was going to say mad.”
He laughs. “Not all humans. Amethyst is pretty special, and they get along very well.”
Something like jealousy pokes hot and cold in my gut. Ugh. Why the hell am I feeling jealous over their relationship, of which I know nothing about. Oh god, am I getting possessive over him? Isn’t that a vampire thing?
I shake the feeling away. “So how is it that she lives here? She obviously knows you’re all vampires.”
And that I’m a trophy.
“She runs Dark Eyes.”
&nbs
p; I stare at him. “Dark Eyes?”
“Oh, I thought you would have heard about that, since you heard about all the Manson stuff. Come, I’ll show you.”
Wolf grabs my hand and leads me out of his bedroom. His grip is still strong, as if I’m about to throw myself at another human on the tour. Which begs the question…
“How many people are in this house?” I ask him. “Any other humans?”
He nods. “Yvonne. She’s the housekeeper. She’s Amethyst’s mother.”
“Okay, there’s obviously some big story about how all this happened.”
“Not as big as you might think,” he says as we go down another set of stairs to what feels like the main level. There are rooms in all directions, and quick glances as we pass by show decadent furniture in velvet, satin, and leather, gilded lamps, priceless artwork, shelves of old books.
“Where’s Solon’s bedroom?” I ask, reverting to his shortened name.
Wolf gives me a curious look. “Upstairs. At the very top.”
I bring up the image of the house from the outside in my mind’s eye. The top is like a tower, very pointed. It’s rumored that the previous occupants removed all the rafters so that the top could be opened and you’d have a view of the night sky. Given what I know now of the owners, I think the rumors are probably true.
We pass by the front door, and I eye it briefly, wondering if I can get out of Wolf’s grip and make a run for it.
“You can try,” Wolf says, picking up on my emotion. “But the outcome would be the same. Futile.”
I give him a furtive glance. “Why? How come when I leaned out the window, no one outside saw me or heard me?” I pause. “Oh god. Am I…a ghost?”
The thought terrorizes me for a moment.
He snorts. “No. You’re not a ghost. Solon has this place under, uh, well, what you might call a cloaking spell.”
I slow, pulling him to a stop. “A cloaking spell? You said he wasn’t a witch.”
“He’s not a witch. But he deals with witches and they do him favors in exchange for the vampires he brings them. I don’t know who did this one, it was so long ago,” he says, gesturing to the house around us, “but we’re able to hide in here. Humans can’t find us here, can’t see us. Neither can vampires or even witches. Unless they’re invited inside, it’s like none of us exist.”
“Well, shit.”
“And if you, specifically, try to leave, the house won’t let you. The door won’t open for you, and if it opens for someone else and you try to sneak through, you won’t be able to pass through.”
I stare dumbly at the door. It’s so close and yet I have no doubt he’s telling me the truth. There really is no escaping this place, and I don’t know much longer I have before that really sinks in. The whole turning into a vampire and discovering you’re half witch, along with all the other shit, is a lot for my brain to compute these days, almost fooling me into thinking that I’ll be okay. Distracting me from the devastating truth.
“No point getting sad about it,” he says to me, grabbing my wrist. “I’ll get you a drink.” I perk up a little at that and he gives me one of his easy grins. “Not blood. Solon is in charge of that. But I can mix a pretty good cocktail.”
I follow him down another set of stairs, then another, until it feels like we’re in a basement, although there is another stairwell off to the right, perhaps leading down to the same level where I was kept before.
Then Wolf opens a set of doors in front of us and we step into another world.
“Holy shit,” I say breathlessly.
“Welcome to Dark Eyes,” he says with a grin.
Wow.
Dark Eyes is a large opulent lounge, the kind you’d see in a vintage film noir from the 40s, in some exotic city. It’s all curved plush leather chairs around circular glass-topped tables, priceless vases full of five-foot-high pampas grass, dark wood walls interspersed with frescoes painted right onto the walls and ceilings, tons of giant Turkish rugs draped across the floor, all the dim mood lighting you could want. At one end there’s a gorgeous teak bar with rows and rows of the most high-class and expensive alcohol you couuld imagine, at the other there’s a small stage with a microphone, framed with velvet curtains.
“Great, isn’t it?” he says, letting go of me and heading behind the bar. “Now, what do you want to drink?”
I’m still stunned, running my hands over the luxurious leather of the chairs, marveling at how decadent and cool this place is, eyes drawn to every corner. There’s always something new to notice. “Anything is fine,” I tell him.
“That’s easy,” he says, and I hear him pop a cork. “I’ll make you what I’m good at.”
There are three other doors in the room, two on either side of the stage, and a glass door near me. I crane my neck and spot another smaller room inside, with books.
“Is that a library?” I ask.
“Cigar lounge,” Wolf says, pouring alcohol into a martini shaker. “Solon can’t live without his cigars.”
“And where do those other doors lead?”
He glances at them briefly. “One is to the backyard. That’s the official entrance.”
“And the other.”
He pauses, catching my eye for a moment. “For private events.”
Uh-huh. See, with these guys that could either mean something to do with sex or something to do with blood.
Or both.
Wolf finishes making me a dark-colored martini, then brings it over with a beer. We take the nearest table, my back to the doors we just walked through.
“For the lady,” Wolf says, and it’s such a gentlemanly gesture that I almost forget that he had his tongue shoved inside me for days.
I try not to blush at the thought as I take the drink from him, then busy myself by admiring it. It’s the color of caramel and smells sweet, garnished with a cherry and orange.
I take a tepid sip. It’s good. Like whisky and cinnamon and something else.
“It’s not blood, but hopefully it will do,” he says, cracking open his beer with ease.
“It’s much-needed,” I tell him, looking around. “So, tell me about this place.”
“Well, this is the infamous Dark Eyes nightclub. You may have heard that in the 1920s, Russian Czarists bought the house. This was originally the ballroom, which they then turned into Dark Eyes, and used the upper floors as meeting rooms. Everyone started calling it the Russian Embassy.”
“Were you here then?” I ask.
He nods. “We were. Living upstairs. The Russians were vampires, too. Stayed here for many years, then went back to their homeland.”
“Their homeland? So you’re not all from the same parts of the world?”
“Vampires?” he says. “We all come from the same place originally.”
“Oh really? Down to like a certain area or…?”
“Yes. There’s an area just above Sweden, land that’s Finland on one side and Norway on the other. That’s where it all started.”
“When was the first vampire created? I mean, do you know? Or is it impossible to tell?” I want all the history.
He gives me a somewhat sad smile. “Oh, we know. It was all Skarde.”
“Skarde?” That’s a hardcore name. “He like the vampire king or something?”
I was joking but he says, “Pretty much.”
“So…what happened there?”
Wolf exhales, looking slightly uncomfortable. “Skarde was a warrior, fighting for the Norwegian monarchy, when the plague hit, around 1350. He fled into northern Norway, I’m talking the Arctic Circle, hoping to escape the death. But the plague followed, killing large numbers of the population along the coast. The Sami people, from Finnmark, weren’t as affected by the plague because of isolation and diet. They didn’t eat the grains in which the plague was often found. They ate reindeer and fish instead, kept to themselves, far away from the populations of the other countries.”
I listen, enraptured. I’ve studied a bit abou
t the Sami people, fascinated with Lapland as a child, but even so, this is all new to me.
Wolf goes on. “While most Finns and Swedes were Lutherans at that point, a lot of the Sami were still committed to Paganism. Skarde lived with a certain sect of the Sami, adapting to their ways, taking on Paganism, Shamanism, but still the death followed…” He trails off.
“And?”
“And it’s never quite clear what happened,” he says carefully. “We don’t have any texts, you see, it’s all passed down verbally. Skarde struck a bargain with someone dark and powerful. The bargain was for eternal life, so he wouldn’t die from the plague. What he got instead was, well...” He gestures to himself. “Some might say he was screwed over. Others say he was cursed. Same difference.”
“That means you and I are cursed,” I tell him.
“Some days it does feel that way,” he says. Then he gives me a quick smile. “Other days, it’s fucking awesome.”
I let out a caustic laugh. “Yeah, been a real hoot so far.” I pop the cherry from my drink into my mouth and immediately think of Elle.
Elle.
Elle, who probably thinks I’m still in Joshua Tree with my parents.
Elle, from another life.
I hadn’t even thought of her until this moment and, fuck, it hurts me.
Is the rest of my life just going to fade from my memories?
I close my eyes briefly, trying to squash the feeling. There’s already too much to be worried about. I’m just a few thoughts away from truly unravelling.
“So where does Absolon come from then? Same as you?” I ask him, trying to move past the pain.
Wolf nods. “More or less.”
“And what’s his story? When was he born?”
“Solon is guarded about his past. I’ve learned not to open my mouth,” he says. “You’re better off asking him.”
“Like hell he’s going to tell me,” I mutter, taking another sip of the drink, feeling the booze go straight to my brain.
“You never know,” he says, turning the beer around in his hands. “He doesn’t indulge many people, but he might indulge you.” He pauses, takes a gulp. “He’s fascinated by you, you know.”
Black Sunshine Page 13
