by Morgan Rice
“It’s the Doge’s Palace,” Polly said, answering her thoughts, as she tugged on her arm, leading her through the crowd. “He’s the elected ruler of the humans. The palace is used for parties by the richest family in Venice. They’ve ruled this town for hundreds of years.”
“How did they get so rich?” Caitlin asked.
“Salt.”
“Salt?” Caitlin asked, thinking she’d misheard.
“It used to be a precious commodity. There was a time when no one in Europe could get it. And Venice had it in troves. Haven’t you seen the water? Smelled the air? It’s packed with salt. That’s why all the buildings are rotting. The salt water’s corroding their foundations.
“When the first Venetians came here, they quickly realized they were sitting on a gold mine. All they had to do was extract salt from the water. It was like minting money, and they created more wealth than you or I could ever imagine.”
They continued weaving through more of the crowd.
“But it’s a dying family now,” Polly continued. “Their empire is dwindling. The descendants now are nothing like their ancestors. But some of them are kind of cute. I’ve got my eye on one in particular. Robert. The grandson. He’s about our age, and he’s never been turned. He’s fabulous,”
she said, her eyes lighting up. “He wears the most outrageous outfits. I think he likes me, too. I’m hoping he’ll ask me to dance tonight. Every time I see him, he’s spending money in the most ridiculous, lavish way.”
They finally reached the far end of the room and Polly opened a grand door, and as she did, Caitlin’s jaw dropped.
“Like hiring Mozart,” Polly added.
There, on the far side of the room, seated at the end of an immense banquet table, sat Wolfgang Amadeus Mozart.
Wearing a white wig, dressed in an elaborate costume, he was the only one in the room without a mask—and the only one who didn’t need one. His personality was more than enough. Short, pudgy and very pale, he sat behind a harpsichord, drinking with one hand and playing with the other. When he set down the goblet, he broke into wild laughter, and continued playing with both hands.
For all his levity, his music was intense, spiritual. It was unlike anything Caitlin had ever heard.
She had, in fact, never heard a harpsichord in her life. It had a tin, metallic sound, and it was not very loud—yet it really resonated in its own way. His playing was fun, upbeat, playful. Much like the man himself. But still, there was an undercurrent to it, something so profound.
The table already sat about a hundred, and was half full with humans. There remained about fifty empty chairs, and Caitlin found herself led to the table with her coven members. They all sat together, completing the table, and the other diners all raised a glass and cheered as they did.
Caitlin’s group raised their glasses back, and as Caitlin picked hers up, she saw that it was already conveniently filled with a red liquid.
Caitlin sat in the lush, red velvet armchair, sinking into it, propping her elbows on its huge arms, and examined her glass. It was fine crystal, the red liquid illuminated by the huge candelabra on the table. She had a feeling she knew what it was, and as she drank, she realized she was right: blood. It coursed through her veins with a rush, energizing her, and she realized there was something else mixed in, too—some kind of alcohol. Caitlin felt it go right to her head, and felt a bit dizzy. She also felt relaxed. She realized how on-edge she’d been since she’d arrived.
Elegant china was set before her, on which was a small piece of raw meat. Similar plates were being placed before all of her coven members. The fleet of waiters disappeared, and before they’d even left, another fleet arrived, setting down all sorts of delicacies and meats on the table. In the center sat a huge stuffed pig, an apple in its mouth.
There was more food on this table than Caitlin had ever seen, and every second it seemed another servant brought out a new dish. This was in addition to the dozens of servers who circled around them, constantly refilling everyone’s glasses. They filled Caitlin’s side of the table with the dark liquid, and filled all the others with what looked like champagne.
Caitlin wanted to ask Polly what this was all about, why they were here, whose house this was, but she was too mesmerized by Mozart. Caitlin didn’t understand classical music, and didn’t know how to appreciate it, but even so, it was obvious, even to a layperson, that he played with a skill and passion unlike anything anyone in the room had ever known. The man was on fire. Music seemed to stream right from his fingertips, completing the festive atmosphere. Equally amazingly, he laughed and drank as he played without even missing a note.
All of the people around the table were drinking and laughing. The doors to the huge room were left wide open, and other people continually streamed in and out, the party extending itself into the room, and spreading out all around them. It was less of a formal dining room than it was a dining table set in the midst of a cocktail party. Caitlin could hardly believe the lavishness of this place.
“What is all this?” Caitlin finally asked Polly. “Why are we here? Whose place is this? I thought we were going to a ball?”
Polly had a piece of raw meat in her mouth, sucking the blood from it, savoring every ounce.
She finally put it down, looking refreshed, and wiped her mouth and looked over at Caitlin.
“This is Venice, my dear,” she said. “Nothing ever starts on time. And everything is always preceded by something else. We would never jump right into a ball. Before that is dinner; and before that, music; and before that, drinking; and before that, games. Life here is not about merely going to an event and leaving. It is about making an event last all night long.”
Caitlin could already tell that that was the case. As she looked up, she saw a bunch of circus performers approach the far side of the table, rolling carts with all sorts of balls on them. Another cart rolled up with shells on them. As the table watched, they shuffled the shells in every direction.
“That one!” someone yelled, reaching out and pointing a finger at a shell.
It was a heavy woman, covered in too much makeup, sitting on a man’s lap, and as she screamed, she reached over and pushed a huge pile of gold coins into the center of the table.
“No, no, that one!” screamed someone else, pushing their own pile of coins.
After a dramatic pause, the performer lifted the shell and revealed the empty one. The table erupted into a roar of delight.
The woman who had guessed correctly gathered her coins, plus others, and leaned over and kissed the man she was with.
Caitlin looked around the table, and noticed that many women were sitting on men’s laps, and that some were kissing passionately, in full view of the others. No one seemed to care.
“Don’t you think he’s fabulous?” Polly asked.
Caitlin followed her gaze to the head of the table. Seated there was an arrogant looking fellow, maybe 18, with striking features. He had dark brown hair, brown eyes, was clean shaven, and looked like he’d been pampered his entire life.
“That’s him,” Polly continued, “Robert.”
Polly was right: he was dressed fabulously, and he was very attractive. But he was not Caitlin’s type at all. He seemed so full of himself. He wore his gold mask pulled back, sitting on his forehead, and held a ruby-encrusted goblet. Several attractive woman stood behind him, one with a hand on his shoulder.
He suddenly looked right at Caitlin, raised his glass, and nodded.
“Oh my God, did you see that?” Polly asked. “He looked right at us! Did you see!? I think he was looking at me! I really hope we dance tonight.”
Caitlin fell a twinge of nervousness in her stomach. She knew, without a doubt, that Robert had been looking at her, not at Polly. She was suddenly afraid that he liked her, and, if so, that Polly would hate her for it. She always seemed to end up in these situations.
Caitlin settled into her overstuffed chair, realizing she was in for a long night. On the
one hand, it was fun. But on the other hand, it was too much. Over the top. Decadent. There was just too much of everything—too much food, too much wine, too many games, too many people. It seemed never ending.
All she wanted was to see Caleb. She desperately missed him, now more than ever, with every pore of her body. She had imagined herself coming out tonight, walking right into the ball, and finding him right away. These drinks, these games, this dinner—it all felt like a distraction. It was prolonging her from seeing him. She started to grow impatient.
“So when does the dance start?” Caitlin asked.
“Oh, never before midnight,” Polly said casually, as she took another sip of her wine.
Midnight, Caitlin thought. She looked across the room, at a huge grandfather clock, and saw that it had just struck nine.
She was in for a long night, indeed.
*
Caitlin was slumped in her chair, feeling lightheaded from the endless glasses of wine, from the nonstop, hysterical laughter from every direction, from dish after dish landing in front of her. It was a hedonistic feast unlike anything she had ever experienced. She could hardly believe that this was all just the warm up to the night.
She observed everything carefully, so curious about how people acted and what they talked about, in 1790. She concluded that a dinner party was a very, very different experience. Everyone here really engaged each other, valued each other’s presence, was engrossed in conversation. No one was on cell phones; no one was texting; no one was checking their voicemails or Facebook page. No telephones rang; no electronics buzzed. And soft candlelight took the place of electricity. It was all so much more relaxed, more slow-paced, more civil. No one was in a rush; everyone seemed to have all the time in the world. Maybe that was what happened, she figured, when you took technology away.
And yet, it was not unsophisticated: the China, the crystal, the silverware, the elaborate dress, the gourmet meal, the vintage wines…It could have been like something out of a gourmet restaurant of the 21st century.
At the same time, they didn’t seem to have a great regard for their health. Had they ever heard of cholesterol? They drank and ate as if there were no consequences, as if they would all drop dead tomorrow. And she assumed that most of these people had never seen a gym—or even knew what that was. It was baffling.
As Caitlin slumped further, absolutely stuffed, her eyes began to close—and suddenly, the clock rang out.
Everyone stood, and Caitlin realized the large clock had struck midnight.
As everyone got up, a set of double doors opened on the far side of the room, leading to a ballroom.
Caitlin got up with the others, Polly taking her arm excitedly, and they all hurried, with the crowd, towards the ballroom. More and more people flowed in from all the rooms, and within moments, the massive room was completely filled.
This huge room was much like the others: it boasted a black and white tiled marble floor, a massive fireplace, chandeliers filled with burning candles and gold mirrors on every wall, reflecting the light, making this immense room seem even bigger than it was. Hundreds of people were already in it, and more and more poured through the doors. The room was so wide, Caitlin could hardly see the other end from where she stood. She craned her neck, searching for Caleb, but it was no use.
There was a sea of bodies, and, besides, they were all wearing masks.
Caitlin was nervous as the music began. Mozart sat at the far end of the room, on a small dais, and began playing the harpsichord; as he did, cellists and violinists joined in. It was an upbeat, formal waltz.
Everyone in the room knew what to do. Everyone, that is, but Caitlin. She stood to the side, feeling like an idiot, as everyone lined up perfectly on either side. She looked for Polly, nearly losing her amidst the throng, and hurried to her side.
“Don’t worry, it’s an easy dance,” Polly said. “They always start with easy ones.”
The entire room moved in perfect synchronicity, holding their arms out to the sides, taking one step forward then two steps back, half turning to the right than half turning to the left. Caitlin tried to follow, and as she did, she’d never felt so clumsy. She’d never been a good dancer, and she had no idea what kind of dance this was. Her one saving grace was that the tempo was slow enough for her to catch up with the others.
Caitlin again scanned the crowd, hoping for a glimpse of Caleb. But with all the costumes and masks, it was impossible to even tell who was really male or female. Occasionally, long hair sprawled out the back, and that made it easy, but some women wore their hair tucked in, covered up by a high collar, and dressed in men’s clothing. And some men, Caitlin noticed, strangely enough, dressed in gowns; she could only tell they were men by the muscles in their calves. She had never imagined that there would be any cross-dressing in this century. Was there anything off-limits?
Caitlin was just beginning to get the hang of the song, when suddenly the music stopped.
Mozart, with a loud laugh, suddenly started a new one, this one with a much faster tempo.
A new dance began. A set of four lines formed on opposite sides of the room, and the room paired off, grabbed each other, and waltzed in wide circles throughout the room.
“My God, there he is,” Polly said, watching Robert dance across the room with a buxom blonde.
Caitlin looked, but couldn’t see what she saw in him.
Patrick came hurrying over to Polly, pulled back his mask, and smiled. He held out a hand.
“A dance?” he asked, hopefully.
He blocked Polly’s view of Robert, and she craned her neck, annoyed.
“Maybe later,” Polly said.
His smile dropped, as he slinked away.
“I have to try to get a dance with him,” she said, and headed off into the crowd for Robert.
Caitlin stood there, feeling more alone than ever, and nervously scanned the faces again. This was not going as she had imagined at all. A blur of masks passed in front of her, one after the other.
How could she possibly hope to find Caleb? As she tried to picture his face, it became harder and harder. She began to wonder if she ever even knew him at all. She felt a pit in her stomach, as she began to despair that he had never even survived the trip.
Caitlin tried to center herself, to use her senses. She closed her eyes and breathed deep, trying to shut out all the music, and noise, and movement. As she felt herself getting jostled, she tried to ignore it, to focus on Caleb. She took a deep breath, hoping she could somehow sense his presence.
Deep down, she felt she would just know if he were in the same room.
“Caitlin?” suddenly came a man’s voice.
Caitlin opened her eyes excitedly, her heart soaring.
Before her stood a man with elaborate green mask, and he broke into a smile. Had it worked?
Caitlin broke into a smile herself, hoping.
But when the man threw back the mask, Caitlin’s heart broke.
Infuriatingly, it was Tyler.
The same old Tyler. After all these centuries, still trying to pick her up. “May I have this dance?”
he asked.
Caitlin was annoyed. He had ruined her moment.
“No,” she snapped, and turned away.
She saw his face fall in disappointment as he walked away.
She suddenly felt bad. She shouldn’t have been so harsh with him. He certainly didn’t deserve that; after all, he only asked her to dance, and it wasn’t his fault. But he had caught her at the wrong moment. And now she felt even worse.
As Caitlin scanned the room, she began to despair. She didn’t see how she could ever find Caleb in this place. And clearly, her senses weren’t helping her. There was too much going on, too much getting in the way of her focusing.
The music changed again, and the room transitioned into a new dance, one in which couples danced with each other, then switched off, each person dancing with someone new every few steps.
As Caitlin wa
tched it, she realized that was what she needed to find him. She had to join in, to sweep the entire room, to dance with as many people as she could. Just standing there was doing her no good. She needed to hold hands with as many people as she could. She knew, she just knew, that if her hands actually touched Caleb’s, there was no way, there was no possible way, that she could not know.
Determined, Caitlin hurried out onto the floor with a new passion, grabbing the hands of the nearest partner, following the three-step dance clumsily, then switching off when everyone else did, and grabbing the hands of another.
The hands she grabbed were sweaty, and she could smell the alcohol coming out of their masks.
She danced and danced, finally getting the hang of it, switching off to so many people so quickly, that finally the room began to blur. At one point, she didn’t even know if she had danced with a woman by accident. Everyone just kept switching off, faster and faster, as the music picked up. She danced from one side of the room to the other—again and again and again.
Always, it was a new hand. A new shoulder. A new spin, a new partner. Short ones and tall ones and skinny ones and fat ones. Each new person had an even more elaborate mask; some were funny and made her laugh, while others were sinister.
But still, no Caleb.
Finally, the music stopped. Caitlin, exhausted physically and emotionally, stopped to rest in a corner of the room. As everyone took a breath, she pulled back her mask and wiped the sweat from her forehead, breathing hard, as it was getting hot in here.
“May I request the pleasure of a dance?” came a voice.
Caitlin spun, hoping.
But it was not Caleb—she knew that already from the voice.
