"And I should believe you?" But I let Risa drag me up from my seat, and take me to the back room where the bows were kept, chattering at me all the time.
The back property was vast and probably where all the worth was; a great lawn rolled out and became a hill topped with thick groves of cypress. Risa walked with big boyish strides, her long sleek legs flashing from under fluttering printed shorts. "I used to hunt rabbits with a bow and arrow in Russia," she said to me. "It was my favorite sport. I am lucky that I was neither of noble blood nor of common; I was not always working, and it didn't matter whether or not I was ladylike."
"No?" I said. "There wasn't much of a middle class back then."
"There is no middle class in Russia and there never has been. Russia is feudal. It doesn't matter who runs it; there are always lords and vassals. I suppose I was close to being middle class; my father was a military adviser on the staff of the czar. My mother was a minor titled lady, died in childbirth with me. My brothers raised me." The targets beckoned from down the field, and she began busily stepping on the bows to bend and string them.
"How'd you get out during the war?" I asked quietly.
She strung my bow for me and handed me some chalk for my hands. "Alex," she said, shrugging. "He transformed me just before the Bolsheviks were going to come for me; they'd already gotten my father and brothers long before that. Then Sascha and I…" She blew out her breath in a little burst. "We killed our way out, essentially. We let nothing and no one stand in our way—friends, allies, total strangers. We hid for a long time in Australia, of all places." She notched an arrow, squinted, and in a beautiful simplicity and economy of movement, let an arrow fly into the center circle of the target seventy yards away. "We went everywhere—England, Ireland, Egypt, Brazil… I don't remember where. I had begun watching movies to work on my English, and I got addicted to them, of course. I fancied that Sascha and I were like Nick and Nora Charles from the Thin Man movies—just substitute blood for cocktails, huh? Do you want to take a shot?"
Obligingly I attempted, and my arrow landed fletch-up in the grass. She patted me reassuringly on the back and shot again, scoring the arrow next to her first one. "So I dragged him here and here we've stayed—well, we moved from Hollywood to Beverly Hills to Malibu to Brentwood. We try to get away from modern culture—when we want it, we go to it, we don't want it coming to us. We're rather old-fashioned, in case you hadn't noticed. Daniel notwithstanding. He's just fun. Outrageous. I adore him."
"What do you think of Daniel's little advertising campaign?" I asked. This arrow of mine actually hit the target, sticking just in the outside rim.
Risa shrugged. "I don't care. No one really believes him—and if they do, no one will believe them. Alex gets a little uncomfortable, but I can usually talk him down. As long as Daniel's not going on any talk shows giving out our name and addresses. I'm sure there are still factions in the world who wouldn't mind getting their hands on Alex and me. We killed a lot of people."
"I think the vodka's negatively affecting my aim." It was certainly negatively affecting my ability to sublimate my accent. I flopped down into the grass and poured myself another, giving up my target practice to watch Risa nock and fire arrow after arrow into the bristling center of the target. She was the very picture of the Dianic maiden, white legs gleaming in moonlight. "Too bad vampires can't be in the Olympics," she said.
"Will my aim improve once I'm made?" I asked.
"No, not really." She smiled at me, then strode forward to retrieve her arrows from the target.
I just watched D. B. kill a man—he was so fast my eye couldn't follow. The man was just a middle-aged fast-food employee walking home outside the Rotting Hall. Daniel went from the lobby out onto the street and grabbed the man and dragged him back to the lobby, breaking his neck as he went. Then he crouched over the limp body and sucked blood out of the back of the man's neck. There was a lot of blood left over—D. didn't even really need the blood, he was just in a playful mood, and most of the blood just ran down his chest. Everyone watched. Kids too young to be watching this kind of thing. They were as transfixed as I was. It had no more emotional importance to me than a nature show on TV. D. invited some of the kids forward to lick the blood from his chest, and quite a few of them complied—one of them being Chloe and one of them being Lovely. They love the sight and they love the taste.
Later Daniel stubbed his toe and he screeched and cried in pain like a child.
I don't know if I'll ever understand this, even with a scanning tunneling microscope and all the immunoelectrophoresis in the world. I really don't know if I'll ever understand. But I've got to try.
* * *
Chapter Eleven
On the Tuesday after our visit to the Revikoffs, Daniel got the notion in his head that he and I and Lovely should go to the Ready Room. Lovely and I both protested; the Ready Room was a dreadful combination of Hollywood starlets and Hollywood predators, and their drinks were scary. Daniel insisted, however, and when Daniel insisted, we knew it was better to give in rather than deal with one of his tantrums. We did refuse to dress up, though, and compared to the Italian/Japanese/ Calvin Klein-wearing crowd inside the bar, Lovely and I looked like beatnik students. Daniel wore his black suit and tie; he looked like a beautiful hit man.
"Glen Livet," Daniel barked at the waitress.
"Absolut and tonic," I sighed.
"A big glass of your cheapest, shittiest wine," said Lovely.
Daniel wrapped his fingers around my hand, brushing my palm with his claws. "Okay, kids," he said, "we're going to have a big party. To celebrate the new birth of two beautiful young vampires."
Lovely's face immediately went very pale; he hadn't been sleeping well lately. "I hate parties," he said weakly.
"I hate parties too," I added.
Daniel frowned. "You've been going to the wrong parties. Lovely, you're a bald-faced liar; you're a veritable party whore. You crash high school proms. This will be the party of the season. Beautiful boys, gorgeous women, and I'll invite people other than you two as well." He chucked Lovely under the chin. The waitress brought our liquor, and Lovely downed half his glass of mysterious blush in one swallow.
"I'm too old for parties," he mumbled.
Daniel smiled a fangy smile. The waitress gave him a second glance; then her eyes glazed over and she wandered in a daze back to the kitchen. "You're not too old for parties," he said. "You'll never be too old for parties." Getting no response, he blew out his breath between his lips. "Look, I've only ever made two children before in my life. It was over thirty years ago and they're both dead. Allow me my indulgences, why don't you?"
"Dead, huh?" I sipped. Heavy on the vodka—too heavy. "What happened to 'em?"
"Oh… them…" Daniel gazed into his scotch pensively. "The first one didn't work; I didn't know what I was doing, and she didn't get enough blood. She starved to death before the sun came up… not pretty… Jameson suffered from melancholy, and he allowed himself to be caught by a bunch of Anton Le Vay-type Satanists, who worshipped him for a few days and then left him to die in the sun. Hell of a scandal. He lasted all of three weeks."
"And you're going to try it again?" I asked, arching my brow.
"You two are of a different caliber. Laura was a stupid accident, and I know how to avoid that problem, don't worry about that. Jameson was just a depressed pretty-boy who amused me; I thought I could change him. I don't want to change either of you; I want you to stay the same. Like I did. Besides, you two have each other. Now, both of you drink up, and cheer up. It's decided. We're having a party."
Most of the kids at the Rotting Hall were crazy about the idea anyway. Daniel proceeded to rent out a whole floor in the Chateau Marmont, and invite not only all the other local vampires he knew, but a whole bunch of famous, rich, sexy, or otherwise desirable Los Angeles mortals. He spent hours on the cell phone shouting at caterers and liquorers; the stress seemed to make him glow.
Lovely and I spent m
any days huddled in the alcove, watching horror films with the sound turned off, drinking cheap champagne, and worrying. "I don't know," Lovely whispered to me, fondling recently shoplifted Depeche Mode tapes. "I really don't know."
"Just tell him no, Lovely."
"Well, I don't know. Maybe I do want to be a vampire. I mean, look at me." He spread his arms wide, showing off his torso, which was so translucently pale that I could trace the blue veins across his ribs. "I can't figure out whether or not I've been lying to myself all this time."
"He's brainwashing you."
"You know, Riane, I don't think I'll mind this whole thing, so long as you're there. You totally make everything better." He was wasted and emotional, but I still felt the truth in it. "Promise me you won't ditch me."
"Lovely, I'll follow you anywhere." I kissed him on his dry lips. "I dunno… I see myself getting sick of the Daniel scene in… oh, twenty years or so…"
"Merely an eyeblink!" He flung out his arm and let it drop into his lap.
I contemplatively rubbed the tattoo on his belly. When he drank champagne, the black scar swelled and I could feel the question mark thick against my fingers. His stomach sucked in, struggling to hold in a massive hit from the bong, but the smoke was stronger than he was; it exploded outward, clouding the alcove, and he coughed until I thought he might be sick. I hugged him roughly and we lay there, listening to the strains of Ryuichi Sakamoto coming from the duct-taped tape player.
Our reverie was shattered by the banshee hooting of Daniel and the clatter of his boots on the stairs, right overhead of us. "Where are my babies?" he yelled. We were his babies now. He flung open the door and stared down at us.
"How darling! My liebchens." Daniel cocked his head and smiled like a demented housewife. "Stoned."
I eyed him. "Stoned," I agreed.
"Come on, get up, you can cuddle all day. We have to go to the salon and be fitted for your party clothes." Daniel grabbed my wrist and pulled me half up.
"I wanna go naked," Lovely managed to say.
"You can. You can tear off the clothes if you want. But please be fitted for them, please wear them to the party. It's a status thing! Jeez, you are still in L.A." I stood up so that Daniel wouldn't tear my arm out of the socket in his enthusiasm. "See? Ariane's cooperating."
"We're just getting stoned now while we still can," I explained.
"As long as there are stoners, you can be stoned. Come on."
That whole evening in the stuffy fitting salon, standing there while bored French girls measured my plump breasts and frowned at my legs, I stared at Lovely, trying to send him telepathic signals to tell Daniel the truth before it was too late. But Lovely did no such thing. He smiled at the caresses of the tailors, he shone under Daniel's attention. Poor boy! He was so afraid that Daniel wouldn't love him anymore. The worst part was that I wasn't sure that Daniel would keep loving him if Lovely said no. I wanted what he had to give, but I wasn't sure if it was worth the price of his companionship.
I wanted Lovely with me too. I had my selfish reasons. I wanted someone who I could just hang out with, be comfortable around, a friend, to spend my piece of eternity with. I didn't want to spend a hundred years with Daniel and his insanity. Daniel was a godlike lover, but he was exhausting; I didn't want to be exhausted in the twenty-second century. Each time we made love, he drained me of some of my essence of self, sometimes figuratively, sometimes literally. I didn't even have scars to keep track of his wounds.
Poor Daniel. He couldn't pick up on anything that I tried to transmit to Lovely. He was spinning around like a fairy godmother picking out the glass slippers for his prince and princess. Afterward he took us out for shakes and grilled shrimp at Killer Shrimp, and held Lovely on his lap in full view of everyone, rocking him and crooning lullabies in his ear. Daniel leaned over and kissed me and said, "Thank you, Ariane, thank you for being in my life." I could only wipe the tears off my face and whisper back, Thank you, Daniel.
The color scheme of the party was red and black.
The rich people showed up first, knowing a good snack opportunity when they saw one; the sexy came next, and then the famous. From the pool down below, Lovely and I watched them come in, each being greeted and air-kissed by Daniel as they arrived. We were sipping Singapore slings and watching the starlets and starlettes splashing around in the hippest pool in town. "He's amazing, I have to admit," Lovely said.
I thought Lovely was amazing this evening. Daniel had managed to get him into black silk drawstring pants, black cobweb lace blouse, and Italian jacket; Lovely had managed to remain barefoot, but Daniel had insisted on sterling-silver toe rings and henna designs on hands and feet. Lovely's forelock, now blond, black, and red, snaked artfully behind his left ear, which, upgraded, bore six-gauge surgical steel hoops. "He just knows how to schmooze," I replied, pushing aside my black paper drink umbrella. The Marmont certainly had admirable style.
"I guess we should go inside sometime," Lovely said. "I think I hear Daniel calling us."
Laboriously we staggered up off the deck chairs. I was less burdened under expensive fabrics; Daniel had managed to get me into a red velvet dress with red metallic jewels around the straps. I had never worn red in my life, and I felt like a walking stoplight.
We witnessed chaos as soon as we reached our floor of suites. The kids from the Rotting Hall were racing about, leaping on the furniture, squealing. They were all in their finest clothes, which wasn't really saying very much compared to the Givenchy and the Bill Blass and all the rest surrounding them; but they seemed to be having a great time. The rich were pretty obvious, even though they had tried to dress down for a "casual party"; they often had trophy wives in tow. Most of the famous had fled early on. Famous people usually have no stomach for parties; they'd rather go home and go to bed. The sexy seemed also to be enjoying themselves; how could they not, with the suave Mimsy taking care of every need of the ladies and Chloe paying just enough attention to the men so that they knew what was up?
Daniel hadn't told anyone about the real purpose of the party except the vampires. They were the most obvious of all, mostly by their very subtlety. Alex and Risa occupied a balcony, Risa talking and sipping red wine, and Alex drinking in her every word. I saw others whom I didn't recognize, but the low subconscious hum of their presence thickened the atmosphere like steam.
Daniel seized me by the arm as soon as I came in. "Ariane. You must come meet Sammy. He's been dying to meet you." While walking me to another suite, he kissed my exposed shoulder. "Oh, God, you look beautiful."
"I look like a cherry tomato."
"I want to bite into you."
"You can't, I'll squirt," I said.
He looked up from nuzzling my throat. "Ah, Sammy, there you are."
In a suite, almost alone, a beautiful man was talking to Genevieve, a delicate teenage girl from the Rotting Hall, cupping her tiny hands in his huge ones. He looked up. "Daniel! Finally."
Alex and Risa were not particularly vampiric-looking vampires. Samuel Rifkin was different. He was as tall as Daniel, if not slightly taller, powerfully built, with a beautiful dark tan skin, black eyes, and black hair that ran in sheets to the small of his back. He'd eschewed the color scheme tonight, preferring shades of brown. "I was getting sick of waiting for you," he stated in an arcane, crisp British accent. "I was starting to think this was another of your Dadaist hoaxes."
"No hoax this time. This is Ariane."
"Trie intended." Rifkin kissed my hand. He was cold as tile, his hands huge, segmented, possessed of inch-long claws polished to a high sheen. "Good to meet you."
"This is all very amusing," I said, thinking of nothing else to say.
"Samuel's very old," Daniel said to me, still gripping my arm in his hand. "What year were you born again?"
"Ordinarily I'd refuse such a gauche request. But for you," Rifkin said to me, "I'll ignore his boorishness. I was born in 1872, in Calcutta. My father was an officer in the East India Company. My
mother did the washing-up."
"How… Kipling," I said.
"I don't know," Rifkin replied, amused. "I've never kippled."
Daniel convulsed with silent laughter.
"You've met Lovely?" I asked. It took me a full minute to realize that he scared me. I deeply regretted that drunken crack about Kipling, but he seemed to take it well. He smiled at my query.
"A few times. A charming young boy. Daniel is deeply enamored of him."
"He's my best friend," I said impulsively. God, I wanted another drink and a cigarette. "Excuse me, I have to go have a cigarette, Lovely's got them."
I escaped, feeling their eyes boring holes in my bare back. In the hall some kids, Rotting children and undiscovered young actors, were sitting cross-legged, playing rock-scissors-paper for quick whiffs of crystal meth. I found Lovely in the middle suite, where the food was, stoned and picking sadly through the remains of the catering plates. "Do you have my tobacco?" I grunted at him.
"Huh? Oh. Oh, fuck." He rubbed his forehead. "I lost it."
"Lovely… !"
"I'm sorry. Have Daniel send out for some smokes."
"I got some tobacco," said a voice behind us.
It was a fourth vampire. This one had been very young when he was made; younger than Lovely even; green-eyed and blond with the faint shadows of freckles on his face. "Come on out to the balcony."
We followed him there. He rolled three cigarettes with lightning speed and lit them for us with an army zippo. "I'm Leland," he explained. His handshake was warm. "Y'all are Daniel's friends, right?"
"Right," I said. "Where are you from?"
"Virginia."
His tobacco was excellent—tasted faintly of whiskey and honey. Lovely shed his jacket and unbuttoned his shirt. I leaned against the balcony rail, looking out at the black L.A. night sky; were there never any stars there? Had they been outlawed? "What are you doing in Hollywood?" I asked Leland.
"I dunno. I was bored. I ended up here."
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