by Amy Patrick
“I’ll be the judge of what’s proper and improper. And three days from now you will know the gentleman. And you’ll converse with him and dine with him and dance with him and do whatever is necessary to make him feel welcome. I won’t have you insult him by refusing his generosity.”
Shoving his hand in front of Sadie’s face, he repeats. “Choose a stone, daughter. Perhaps it will become the centerpiece of your engagement ring. You are the one he’s going to marry.”
Wait, what?
Sadie’s face shows no sign of surprise. Obviously she understood Father’s meaning all along while it took me longer to catch on.
“You’ve arranged for Sadie to marry him?” I ask.
“Of course. She’s the eldest—that’s the way it’s done. You know that. Besides, she’s the most marriageable by far.”
The sting of his disapproval and obvious preference for Sadie has long since ceased to faze me. I ignore it, focusing on the more pressing matter.
“But... you said he was eager to meet us both. And he instructed you to gift each of us with a gemstone.”
Father laughs. “And he wants your mother to have one as well. He gave me a diamond cravat pin. As I’ve said, Prince Alexandru is very generous, and he wants to make a good impression on his new fiancée’s family. Now go, both of you, and begin preparations. In your mother’s absence, you are the lady of the house, Sadie. And you, Imogen, you will assist her in any way she needs to make this ball the finest Hampshire county has seen in years. We have much to celebrate. God has answered our prayers.”
When our “special guest” arrives three nights later, I decide the Almighty has nothing to do with it.
Sadie and I huddle together behind the drawn drapes of an upstairs room, peering through the narrow opening between them at the man emerging from the opulent black lacquered carriage.
If there’s anything angelic about Prince Alexandru, it’s of the fallen angel variety. He’s the most wickedly handsome man I’ve ever seen.
Tall, dark-haired, and impeccably dressed in black and white formalwear, he exits the carriage with the lithe grace of a stalking cat. The predatory impression is reinforced by the way he turns side to side, scanning the drive and house as if prepared to launch into hand-to-hand battle at any moment.
“He looks... different than I expected,” Sadie says, wearing a tiny frown.
“He looks dangerous,” I say. And I’m finding that dangerously attractive.
Three women follow the prince out of the carriage and shake out their skirts. They’re all exceptionally beautiful and dripping in jewels. Instead of pinning it up in the current fashion, they wear their hair long and loose.
Most remarkable of all, are their gowns. They’re obviously finely made but shocking in color.
“They’re wearing red,” Sadie exclaims. “I wonder who they are? Father didn’t say the prince would be accompanied.”
“I’ll bet they’re his sisters. They must all be married.”
Societal norms restrict young unmarried women such as ourselves to white gowns or the palest pastels. Even the older matrons generally stick to subdued shades.
These women stand out. They remind me of the bright cardinals that give life to the stark white landscape during the dreariest of winter doldrums.
“I wonder where their husbands are?” Sadie asks.
“Perhaps back in Moldavia? If they’re married at all.”
“Even if they are married, the color is scandalous, especially for a country house party. Especially for a first-time meeting,” Sadie says.
Irritated by her ever-present sense of propriety, I say, “I think they look exquisite. Perhaps in their country all the young ladies wear red to match those beautiful blood rubies Father showed us. I wish I were going to live in Moldavia.”
While pastels are the perfect complement to Sadie’s blonde hair and cream-and-sugar complexion, my own pale skin and dark hair would look better against darker, more dramatic tones.
Sadie sniffs. “Well, if I become the princess of Moldavia, I won’t be wearing shocking red, I can tell you that for certain.”
Prince Alexandru speaks to his female companions, and they all move toward the manor’s front entry steps. Just as he reaches the bottom step, he stops and looks up at the window, as if he knows he’s being watched.
Sadie and I jump back so quickly we trip over each other’s feet and end up in a heap on the rug. Then we start giggling uncontrollably.
“Do you think he saw us?” she asks with a mixture of horror and mirth.
I flop onto my back and stare up at the ceiling, savoring the memory of his unusual light eyes and shockingly sensual lips. “I don’t think so, but I certainly saw him. Isn’t he the most beautiful man you’ve ever laid eyes on?”
“’Tis only skin deep,” my virtuous sister reminds me. “I shall reserve judgment on his beauty until I’ve gotten to know him better.”
Sadie’s chambermaid Lily comes in and makes a shocked noise at the sight of the two of us sprawled on the floor.
“Misses Sadie and Imogen, it’s time to get you dressed. The guests are beginning to arrive. Your father won’t like it if you’re late.”
Sadie gets to her feet, wearing a chastened grin. “I’m ready except for putting on my gown. Help Imogen first. Her hair has fallen from its pins.”
My hand goes to my head, and I realize she’s right. Her hair has somehow stayed perfectly in place, in spite of our roll on the rug. Of course.
“I have your dress all pressed and laid out for you, my lady,” Lily says. “And I’ll put the curling iron into the fire, so it’ll be all hot and ready to repair your hair.”
“Thank you, Lily.” I get up and head for the door, turning back to speak to Sadie. “See you downstairs?”
“I’ll come to your room when I’m dressed, and we’ll go down together.”
Suddenly, in spite of my earlier annoyance with her, I’m glad my sister will be at my side tonight. Now that I’ve seen them, the thought of meeting the dashing prince and his glamorous companions is rather intimidating.
Not that he’ll even notice me. Next to my lovely sister and those vibrant women accompanying him, I’ll be positively invisible. As usual.
Hurrying down the corridor toward my room, I pass the family parlor and then my parents’ respective chambers.
Then I stop. I turn around and go back to the doorway of Mother’s room, hesitating with my hand on the knob.
She’s traveling abroad, of course, but she’s never minded before when I entered her room. I open the door and go in, walking directly to the large wardrobe against one wall.
Did she leave it? I hope she left it.
Throwing open the heavy double doors, I do a quick scan of the clothing items left inside. Yes. There it is.
My mother has many beautiful gowns, but this one has always been my favorite. And she’s never worn it. Has never dared.
Quickly, before I can think better of it, I grab the gorgeous dress she’s labeled a “foolish flight of fancy” and an ill-advised “waste of coin” and best of all “a harlot’s calling card.”
Making sure not to step on the voluminous fabric in my arms, I rush down the corridor to my room. I feel like someone’s stepped on a hive of bees in my stomach, sending a buzz of excitement through every part of me.
Tonight... I will be seen.
Lily wisely keeps her mouth shut about my abrupt change of wardrobe, but I read the shock and censure in her eyes. Nevertheless, she helps me on with my corset and the daring flame-red dress.
Then she follows my instructions and styles my hair in a flowing cascade of curls, reminiscent of the women the prince arrived with. Unpinned like this, the dark locks fall halfway down my back.
As a final touch, I add a necklace from my jewelry case. It’s a gold chain with a pendant at the end in the form of a hollow heart-shaped basket. I wear it frequently.
At times I’ve opened the little basket and put things inside. A fresh rosebud
. A snip of cloth dabbed with perfume. A folded love note from Will.
Tonight, I have the perfect accessory in mind. Inserting the blood ruby into the golden basket, I snap it closed and let the pendant fall onto my chest where it nestles at the top of my pushed-up cleavage.
Then I inspect the complete ensemble in the full-length standing mirror. “How do I look, Lily?”
“Very... eye-catching, my lady.”
I smile because that’s exactly what I was hoping for.
I hear Sadie’s gasp before I spot her behind me in the mirror. She’s stopped stock-still in the doorway.
“Whatever are you wearing?”
I smirk at her shocked expression. “A ballgown. It’s Mother’s. Remember when she had it made and then was too timid to wear it anywhere? I’m not too timid. Shall we go down?”
“Your hair...” Sadie says. Though she fails to finish the sentence, I know how it finishes. Is inappropriate. Is wild and wanton. Isn’t what I would do in a million years.
“My hair matches the style of the prince’s sisters. I’m sure he will approve.”
She recoils and does a quick double-blink. “Do you want him to approve of you?”
“Of course,” I say in a flippant tone. “Father did say we should do everything in our power to make Prince Alexandru feel welcome.”
She rolls her eyes. “Including wearing a ridiculous costume? He may be foreign royalty, but he’s just a man. And you’re not foreign—or old enough—or married enough—to wear that color. You’re a highborn English girl, Imogen. Not a Moldavian queen.”
I laugh, taking my skirts in my hands and twirling in an exuberant spin.
“I think I’d make a wonderful queen.”
2
Where Will I Go
Abbi
Imogen’s eyelids fluttered again.
She hadn’t moved, hadn’t spoken. None of us knew whether she was even aware of her surroundings yet.
One thing was certain. She was human.
Larkin’s cure had worked. Though Imogen seemed to be drifting in and out of consciousness, we’d all seen her eyes. They were blue, not lilac-colored.
I shared a sideways glance with my friend, who wore an expression of concern instead of elation over her scientific success. Reaching over to grasp her hand, I squeezed it.
Larkin squeezed back and gave me a tremulous smile. “This is good news... right?”
I nodded. Though I wasn’t sure what would happen next, it wouldn’t be a mass execution of all my friends. If Imogen was no longer a vampire, she couldn’t be queen of the vampires.
“This is good news,” I assured her. “Vampirism can be cured.”
“Good news for those who want to be cured,” Kannon corrected in a sullen tone.
“Right.”
The Bloodbound soldier had already made it clear he had no interest in becoming human again. As it would very likely mean a return to his human condition of waist-down paralysis, I understood.
Did I want to be cured? I still wasn’t sure. I thought so.
Becoming a vampire hadn’t been my choice, and my life since turning hadn’t exactly been easy. But Reece insisted becoming a vampire—becoming queen of the vampires in this country—was my destiny.
Reece.
He was the real issue. He didn’t want to go back to his human life, insisted there was nothing for him to go back to. And he wanted to make sure the vampire species had a leader and protection against the threat from the growing faction of humans who hated us just for being who we were.
If I reclaimed my humanity, it might mean losing him. That possibility was every bit as repellent to me as the idea of “ruling” over anyone and anything.
Where was he, by the way? I assumed he hadn’t followed me here to the clinic because he’d been annoyed about my eagerness to check on Shane’s condition. But Reece needed to know about this development with Imogen. It affected him as directly as it affected me.
“Do you know where Reece is?” I asked Kannon. “He should know about this.”
Kannon smirked. “He took some of the guys and went out on a patrol, said he wanted to give you ‘space’ while you visited your human boyfriend and figured out what you wanted to do about him.”
“Shane isn’t my boyfriend. He isn’t human either. Not anymore.”
My friend, who’d helped me safely travel cross-country from California to the Bastion, had been rewarded for his kindness by being served up at a human feast thrown by Imogen. Reece, Larkin, and I had arrived in the nick of time to prevent his death.
Unfortunately the only way to save him had been to turn him. Since I’d refused, Reece had been the one to bite him, saying he didn’t want me mourning Shane’s death for eternity. It wasn’t until tonight we’d learned it had worked.
“Do you think he’ll want the cure? Obviously it works.” Kannon threw a significant glance in Imogen’s direction.
She was definitely waking up. She’d made a couple of moaning sounds, and her fingers and feet twitched. “Will,” she mumbled in a barely audible voice. “Where’s Will?”
“I doubt it,” I said. “The love of Shane’s life is here—she’s a vampire—her name’s Marjorie. I think they’re both pretty excited about the idea of spending eternity together.”
“Sweet,” Kannon said.
Dr. Coppa moved close to the bed. “Would you all mind stepping out of the room please? I need to examine Imogen, and it would probably be better if the news about her... changed condition came from me rather than any of you.”
The three of us moved into the hallway and kept our voices low.
“How do you think she’ll take it?” Larkin asked.
Only someone who didn’t know Imogen would ask that question.
Kannon and I spoke at once. “Not well.”
He turned to me. “You should address the people as soon as possible. They need to know about the transfer of power.”
Larkin corrected him. “Abbi hasn’t made up her mind yet. She’s not sure she wants the position of queen.”
Kannon’s head jerked back, and his face screwed up in confusion as he glanced between my friend and me. “What? It’s not a matter of want or don’t want. You are queen, Abbi. You have to lead us in the war against President Parker and his followers. You have to start giving the Bloodbound your blood. We’ll fall apart without it. Imogen’s blood will start wearing off in a matter of days. The troops won’t stay loyal without it.”
A wave of heat passed through me, and I brought shaky hands up to hold my own face. “This is all happening too fast. A few minutes ago, I was seriously considering turning human again. Now suddenly I’m supposed to be queen? And give people my blood to drink to, what—hypnotize them? Drug them?”
Larkin spoke up. “Look, I know I’m new here and don’t understand the way it all works, but maybe it isn’t necessary. Maybe the vampire race won’t even need a queen anymore, you know? Now we know the cure is effective. If I had a lab to work in and some help, I could produce enough for everyone.”
Kannon glared at her. “Not everyone here wants a cure. Some of us can’t go back to being human, and if the overall number of us is reduced, what happens to the rest of us, huh? We’ll never achieve equality with humans if we’re a tiny minority. They’ll lose their motivation to work with us if they’re no longer afraid.”
The debate was ended by Dr. Coppa opening the door. “You can come in now,” he said. “if you want to.”
The look on his face told me he’d rather be almost anywhere else. The reason for that was obvious once we filed back into the room.
Imogen was thrashing about on the bed, ripping the white sheets and screaming. When she spotted me, she leapt to the floor and came toward me, not stopping until our faces were inches apart.
“This is your doing. How dare you think you could steal my throne. I regret ever gifting you with immortality. I should have let you bleed out on that deserted road—or better yet, drained you mysel
f. Well, you’re not going to get away with it.”
She shifted her gaze to Kannon. “Kill her.”
He stayed in place, rolling his lips inward in an uncomfortable expression before looking away toward the clinic wall.
Imogen’s nostrils flared in fury. “Have you lost your hearing or just your manhood? I don’t care if you are ‘friends,’ your queen has given you an order. Kill her. Now.”
Now he looked at her. “I can’t do that. You’re not my queen anymore.”
For a moment she stood dumbstruck. Then she looked at Dr. Coppa, who nodded in confirmation.
“I’m afraid it won’t be safe for you to stay at the Bastion. Your blood... well, it would be too tempting for too many.”
Kannon added, “You can’t lead the vampire race if you’re not a vampire. The people won’t follow you. Neither will the Bloodbound.”
Imogen slapped him with a loud crack. Kannon barely flinched.
Apparently at a loss, Imogen went still and silent for a moment, during which a progression of thoughts was clear on her face. She went from shock, to concern, to understanding, and back to fury.
When she spoke again, she was sputtering. “What will I do now? Where will I go? I have no money, no home.”
She glared at me as if it was my fault.
“Normally, I’d suggest someone in your position stay with family for a while,” I said. “Unfortunately you murdered yours.”
3
Put it On
Abbi
“It wasn’t me,” Imogen said.
Standing in her bare feet on the clinic floor, glancing from one to the other of us with pleading eyes, she seemed smaller than she’d ever been.
She still looked pretty much the same—young and beautiful, with long, dark hair and luminous skin—a dead ringer for Audrey Hepburn. But she was diminished in every other way—in pride, in power, in self-assurance.
“I didn’t have Sadie killed,” she insisted. “We had our differences over the years, but I decided to just let her live out her days in hiding.”
