The bodyguard stopped, signaling the way down a burgundy-carpeted corridor. Mona nodded, and the vampire disappeared in the crowd.
Several parlors lay at each side of the hallway. In these darkened rooms blood drinkers lingered with their midbloods. Their scrutinizing stares landed on her along the way. They knew she was mortal, a human amidst vampires, but even then she did not falter.
“Dance with me,” a voice spoke in her ear. The blood drinker stepped out of a parlor, and he did it so fast it made her dizzy.
Mona rolled her eyes back and gave him no answer. Her interest was set at the end of the corridor—the stairway that would lead her to him. She didn’t fear them. Any ill-mannered blood drinker who dared disturb her would invariably meet the wrath of Jiao Long, not to mention her lethal dark powers.
“She’s with The Dragon…” Whispers in the dark. The pesky blood drinker drew back.
Mona moved down the stairway, reaching the cellar. A steep tunnel was the only way to move forward. This part of the house was cold. She was beginning to regret wearing such a short sleeveless dress—well, not really. She looked phenomenal in that dress. Mona was sure seeing her in it would please him, and that was worth a chill.
She arrived at a central vault underground, surrounded by wide gothic columns. Three more tunnels branched out of the room. A small group of blood drinkers conversed in the lowest of voices. But the words witch and The Dragon soon reached her ears.
The choice was simple. There was but one tunnel illuminated by torchlight. It had to lead to him.
Mona’s high heels echoed as she moved through the stone paved tunnel. It didn’t take long for her to reach another room, grander and heavily decorated with red velvet banners hanging from its vaulted ceiling. The banners were embroidered in gold with the Tree of Life—The Skull Splitter’s sigil. She expected most things in this room, but never what now lay before her eyes. Her grandfather by generations, sitting on the Devil’s Coven most coveted Red Throne.
“I feared my eyes would never see this,” she said, moving closer.
Amused by her words, Jiao’s lips traced a mischievous smile. A shot of adrenaline rushed through Mona’s arteries. She blushed. Jiao Long’s inherent sensuality had enticed her for as long as she could remember. His vampiric charm only enhanced Jiao’s innate sex-appeal.
“Mona,” he said. His voice was dark, deep, and drove her to the verge of wild desire. He beckoned her closer with a soft wave of his hand. “You’ve been away from me for too long… I think I’ve missed you, Mai Mai.”
“Well, I haven’t,” she said with determination, but of course, it was a lie. “I guess this means there’s a new King of the vampires in San Francisco…”
Graciously, Jiao bowed his head. “It’s Leader now, Mai Mai. Politics suggest one must avoid imperial denominations this time and age.” He narrowed his eyes, their ludic glance swept her head to toe. Jiao rose from the Red Throne and stared at its embroidered sigil. “It will be more fitting once I’ve effaced all trace of Eirik Bjorn’s Yggdrasil and The Dragon takes its place… But tell me, what brings you here?”
“We need to talk, Jiao.” Four hundred years stood between them, and yet he looked the same age as her.
“Very well, but not here.” His narrowing eyes searched the throne room with a quick glance. “Liam…”
A figure emerged from the shadows. Almost six feet tall, with a muscular build and long hair so blond it almost appeared white by the flickering torchlight.
“Please escort my dearest Mai Mai to the island,” he said. Liam nodded gravely.
“I’ll meet you there shortly.” Jiao reached for her hand. Mona complied to his wishes. He then pressed his soft lips against it.
Something stirred in the blackness of her soul. That simple kiss reminded her of their one and only night together. It happened a few months into her marriage to André. There was no denying Jiao Long anything he wanted. But she wanted him now more than ever.
Masquerade
Phillip studied the black envelope handed to him by his maker. A coat of arms was engraved on its golden wax seal. It was a two-headed falcon with majestic wings spread open and claws that gripped a pair of crossing swords. Phillip had seen its likeness before, cast on Ivan’s signet ring.
He broke the seal and took out a piece of black parchment scribed in golden letters that read:
You are cordially invited to
The Lockhart Foundation’s
All Hallow’s Eve Masquerade
“The masquerade…” Phillip mused. Year after year, Ivan rounded up society’s crème de la crème for this soiree. Politicians were imperative as were celebrities, plus a few of Ivan’s special acquaintances—did he plan on inviting Antoine?
“But are you sure, Ivan?” Phillip asked. “Shouldn’t we cancel this year? I mean, is it wise considering…?” Considering a member of our family is missing, he wanted to say. After all, Alisa and Phillip shared the same preternatural blood.
“I will do no such thing,” Ivan said. “A bit of distraction is exactly what we need… Next Friday night this house will be overflowing with enticing young mortals.” He paused. “You can come out now, Marianne. I know you’ve been eavesdropping on our conversation.”
Light footsteps rushed down the stairway. Within seconds, Marianne appeared in the living room, relieved to discover Lockhart’s mood had shifted. But Phillip knew his maker, and he wasn’t so sure his wrath had been fully appeased.
“Are we having a party, then?” Marianne asked.
“We are.” Ivan nodded. “Mind you, this gathering is an exclusive social event—not an Immortal’s private buffet. So I’m afraid eating the guests is out of the question, Marianne. Agreed?”
Ivan’s last remark stung her like a thousand needles—it was that obvious. But she couldn’t risk falling out of Ivan’s good graces.
“I’ll behave,” she whispered with blushing cheeks.
However firmly Edgar Bolden’s death clung to Phillip’s immortal heart, the upcoming masquerade gave some comfort to his pain. He was actually looking forward to it now.
Cassandra loomed over the kitchen table. Her almond-shaped eyes fixed on the book lying before her.
“Oh, Granny,” she whined. “Why would you send me this book if you didn’t want me to read it?” Gasping, she rose from the floor and sat on the chair.
She had studied Granny’s journal for hours. Even its splitting brown leather bindings had engraved in her memory, along with the oval-shaped lapis lazuli stone fixed on the cover.
She flicked at the lock with her fingers. There was no way to open that wretched lock without a key.
“Perhaps…” she mused, heading to the counter. Cassie opened the drawer and pulled out a knife. She was no expert lock picker but she was sure it would be an easy task for such a simple lock. Plus, there was always Youtube if she needed a tutorial.
Cassandra took the book. She would slip the tip of the knife into the padlock, that should do it. “Nice and easy…” She bit her lower lip. The knife slowly glided into the… “Ow!” Cassie dropped the knife and the book on the table. A bolt of electricity burned her hands. “What the—?” It was like that game, Operation, and she got the buzzer!
“Jeez!” batting her hands in the air. “What is this? Some incantation? Granny… where’s the key?”
“Merde!” she cried, startled by a loud whistle piercing her eardrums. Cassie turned to the stove. The sound came from the steaming kettle. “I really need to relax.”
She reached over the stove for her mug. “Dammit!” The hot steam burned her wrist. Kettle and mug crashed against the tiled floor, shards of porcelain scattered in the room.
“What’s wrong with me?” Cassie fell on her knees and sobbed, picking up the mess on the floor. Ever since the Mona incident—the one where she’d accidentally sent her flying across the kitchen—Cassandra felt completely off.
There was blood on the porcelain shards. She turned over her hand. She had a two-inch ve
rtical slice in her palm. “Oh, great!” She raised her arm to slow the bleeding. “Just great!”
The sight of her own blood made her dizzy. A low buzzing rung in her ears… She was about to faint. The buzzing faded and transformed into a low croon—was she imagining it? Would she go down in the Deveraux’s history as Poor Crazy Cassie?
Blue lights flashed in the kitchen and disappeared just as quickly… They came from the book. Compelled by curiosity, Cassandra got on her feet. Her hand hovered above the journal’s cover. Seconds away from touching it, the lapis lazuli stone glowed—it actually glowed. And in that moment, Lockhart’s words echoed in her mind: Is this a book of spells?
“Is it?” she asked.
A drop of blood glided off her finger and landed on the stone, followed by another. “Oh, no!” Cassie took a napkin to clean the blood off the—what? No. Impossible. The stone grew brighter as if lit from within. The stone's luminosity radiated in shades of blue and scattered on every corner in the room.
Ivan crushed the piece of paper in his fist. Disappointing. Edgar Bolden’s outstanding ability for research had proven less than useful in his last task. The assignment Ivan had trusted in his hands had been one of a delicate nature: Revealing the contents of Annette Deveraux’s last will and testament.
He had hoped the necklace would be mentioned in those documents. But Edgar’s note stated things quite clearly.
All goes to Miss Cassandra Deveraux. A house in Saint-Tropez goes to her cousin, Miss Jeanette Deveraux. Cassandra’s trust fund is not to be revealed until her birthday. No mention of any jewelry.
Ivan could have predicted it all. Tradition in the Deveraux lineage dictated that the entirety of the family’s assets were to pass to the eldest female. This would have been Denise Deveraux, but she had renounced to that right when she quitted the family years ago on being pregnant with Cassandra. The next female in line was her daughter.
Jeanette Deveraux was actually quite close to Cassandra in age, a month or so younger. Orphaned in her early childhood, she lived in Paris with Annette. It had been a while since Ivan had last seen her. He tried to keep up with the family, but living in America had distanced him from the Deverauxes little by little.
Curious that Annette would have chosen to keep her inheritance secret from Cassandra until her birthday… One last birthday gift?
The young witch had not lied. In her eyes, Katherine’s Mora clock and Annette’s journal represented the whole of her inheritance.
“I’ll have to start trusting her if I ever hope to find Alisa.” Heaving a heavy sigh, he pulled open the desk’s drawer and slipped Edgar’s note into his journal’s yellowing pages.
“I thought I’d find you here,” Phillip said, leaning against the door’s jamb. One hard look at his maker was enough for him to question his serenity.
How could he even think about throwing a party when Alisa’s whereabouts were yet to be determined? Did he not care for her wellbeing? Sometimes he seemed emotionally invested in her search, while others, he appeared distant and uncaring… Phillip couldn’t explain it, but he would think it twice before ever questioning Ivan again. He wouldn’t risk another quarrel with his maker.
“Any more bodies to report?” Ivan sneered.
“I’m afraid not.” Philip slipped his hands into his jeans pockets and stepped inside. “Listen… about that. I don’t think she meant to—”
“To kill Edgar?” Ivan huffed. “You must be the gentlest soul amidst the damnedest of souls… Take care, Phillip. Marianne is anything but naive.”
“What do you mean?” furrowing his brow.
“I’ve been thinking,” Ivan said, avoiding a straight answer, “since Marianne is back in our lives—in your life, I should say—perhaps it’s time for me to seek equally befitting company.” He paused, for dramatic effect most assuredly. “What are your thoughts on Antoine?” A brief smile revealed a hint of his sharp fangs.
Phillip’s blood froze.
“My thoughts on Antoine?” He winced. “My thoughts—? Are you deliberately wounding me? Is that your intention with this sickening question?”
Ivan seemed confused by his answer, but it was all an act. Phillip knew him too well. “I grow tired of your wicked games, Ivan,” he added. “I am no marionette of yours. You cannot pull a string and watch me spring into action… I will not have it!” slamming his hand on the desk.
His maker’s demeanor did not change. Ivan’s statuesque composure was the most obnoxious thing… Did he not care at all?
“Wow…” Ivan mused. “If I didn’t know you any better, I’d say you were jealous.”
“Nonsense.”
At last, he moved out of the chair and walked around the desk to meet him. “Then you must be somewhat taken with Antoine—concerned for his sake.”
Phillip had trouble identifying whether those words were truly meant or the result of sarcasm.
“I couldn’t care less for his misfortunes,” Phillip said. “Do as you will, Ivan. Like you always do.”
“Of course, I will,” his maker replied. “But more importantly, answer me this: Why would you think I’d ever want to hurt you?”
Phillip remained silent.
“It may come as a surprise to you, but I’m not the vicious demon you would think.” Ivan reached over the desk and slipped a card away from its surface. “Alisa has disrupted your life as much as mine… This might make things easier.”
A business card.
Elizabeth Sharma.
Head of Accounts,
Royal Automobile Imports.
“Royal Automobile Imports?” Phillip read.
“I would not have you endanger my car ever again.” Ivan half smiled. “Try to take better care of this one, will you?”
“Is it—?”
“You’ll find out,” Ivan said, giving a quick look to his wristwatch.
Perhaps his maker was not that devious after all. If somehow Phillip could look past the mischief of his games, he would discover the friend and mentor he’d once cherished eighty years ago.
“I must be off,” Ivan said, heading to the foyer.
“Where to?” Phillip’s anger faded, much to his surprise.
“To Deveraux Hall… You’re coming?”
“Yes.” Back to the search, a common endeavor like in the early days of his awakening. “But how about a small detour first? I’m ravenous.”
The spectral blue light flickered and grew dim, gathering back into the lapis lazuli stone fixed on the grimoire.
The air stirred in the room. A soft croon filtered into her ears. Cassandra turned. A dozen peaceful entities surrounded her.
“Thy name… Embrace thy name…”
A familiar feeling emanated from those presences. Their warmth and welcoming nature drove her to the verge of tears.
On the table, the grimoire buzzed and rattled like an ongoing cell phone set on vibrate. The book tumbled and bounced hard, and after a minute, it stopped. And to her absolute amazement, the grimoire's leather latch opened by itself.
Cassandra wrapped a napkin around her hand’s wound. She carefully opened the grimoire. Frail parchment crackled beneath her fingers as she turned the first page.
The Deveraux Family’s
Book of Spells.
“No… freakin’ way,” she whispered in awe. “Ivan was right… Now I’ll never hear the end of it.”
She pulled a chair and sat before the grimoire. Turning to the next page, as her fingers touched the parchment, myriad images flashed before her eyes:
Deveraux Manor. In her golden years, Annette sat before the desk, studying the grimoire. A gentle smile curved her thin lips as she read the passages written by her mother, Katherine.
The scene soon dissolved and one of the master bedroom’s in the manor took its place. A young Katherine, dressed in avant-garde couture, sat before the dresser, scribbling side-notes on the grimoire’s pages. Across from her on a Bordeaux velvet divan, lay the vampire Ivan Lockhart.
“Enough of that,” he mused with a sensual tone. “Forget about that wretched book and get over here, Katherine. Life’s too short.”
“Aren’t you one to remind me of it?” She sniggered, throwing him a mischievous look over her shoulder. “I’ll finish up in a minute. This is too important.”
Katherine’s quill had not yet landed on the page when Lockhart appeared beside her. “Not more important than I am,” he whispered in her ear, beckoning her when his hand slipped around her waist.
“Darling!” Katherine said with a pretense of shock. Then staring at each other’s eyes, both burst into laughter.
Ivan pushed the book away and carried her in his arms. His lips landed on her lips in an unhurried kiss…
One last image followed. It was an earlier period in time, centuries back. In the manor’s garden, concealed from the rest of the world, Juliette Deveraux sat by the pond’s stone rim, with the grimoire tightly held between her hands.
Amidst the sorrowful song of toads, blackbirds, and cicadas, tears rolled down her cheeks. Juliette’s crimson lips were tinged blue by the moonlight.
“Unum... ultimo… praestigium,” she whispered into the night.
A strong gust of wind stirred in the room. Bright amber light gleamed off the grimoire’s pages.
“Wha—what’s happening?” Cassie mused.
Trapped in a growing whirlwind, the grimoire hovered over the table, its pages turning in random order. Then the light disappeared, the movement stopped, the wind lost strength, and the book fell on the table, closed.
A sudden tingling rushed through Cassie’s arms and reached her fingertips.
“Thy name…” The whispering voice came from the grimoire’s stone as it beamed a faint blue light. “Seal thy name.”
Compelled by the voice’s command, Cassandra leaned closer to the book.
“Cassandra... Deveraux…” she said in a secretive voice.
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