by L. J. Smith
Bonnie was studying the sketch with the eyes of a connoisseur now. “Those matching bracelets were made just for this dress, weren’t they?” she said with a conspiratorial air.
To Elena’s surprise Lady Ulma seemed uncomfortable. Then she spoke slowly. “The truth is…well, that Miss Meredith is…a slave. All slaves are required to wear some sort of symbolic bracelets when they travel outside their households.” She turned her eyes down to the polished wooden floorboards. Her cheeks were flushed.
“Lady Ulma—oh, please, you can’t think it matters to us?”
Lady Ulma’s eyes flashed as she looked up. “Not matter?”
“Well,” Elena said hautily, “it doesn’t really matter…er, yet, because there’s nothing to do about it, not now.” Of course, the servants weren’t in on the secrets of the Damon-Elena-Meredith-Bonnie relationship. Even Lady Ulma didn’t see why Damon didn’t free the three girls just in case “something should happen, may the Celestial Guardians forbid it.” But the girls had formed a solid phalanx against it; it would be like jinxing their whole enterprise.
“Well, anyway,” Bonnie was blathering, “I think the bracelets are beautiful. I mean she could hardly find anything more perfect for the dress, could she?”—striking at the professional sensibilities of the designer.
Lucen smiled modestly and Lady Ulma gave him a loving glance.
Meredith’s face was still glowing. “Lady Ulma, I don’t know how to thank you. I will wear this gown—and for tonight I will be someone I have never been before. Of course, you’ve drawn my hair up, or partly up. I don’t usually wear it that way,” Meredith finished weakly.
“You will tonight—up and high over that lovely wide brow of yours. This dress is to show off the charming curves of your bare shoulders and arms. It’s a crime to cover them, day or night. And the hairstyle is to lay bare your exotic face instead of hiding it!” Lady Ulma said firmly.
Good, Elena thought. They’ve gotten her off the subject of symbolic slavery.
“You’ll wear a touch of makeup as well—pale gold on your lids, and kohl to enhance and lengthen your lashes. A touch of golden lipstick, but no rouge; I don’t believe in that for young girls. Your olive skin will complete the picture of a sultry maiden perfectly.”
Meredith looked helplessly at Elena. “I don’t usually wear makeup either,” she said, but they both knew that she was beaten. Lady Ulma’s vision would come to life.
“Don’t call it a mermaid dress; she’ll be a siren,” Bonnie said enthusiastically. “But we’d better put a spell on it to keep all the vampire sailors away.”
To Elena’s surprise, Lady Ulma nodded solemnly. “My seamstress friend has sent a priestess today to bless all the garments and to keep you from being victimized by vampires, of course. If that meets with your approval?” She looked at Elena, who nodded.
“As long as they don’t keep Damon out of the way,” she added jokingly, and felt time freeze as Meredith and Bonnie immediately turned their eyes on her, hoping to catch something in Elena’s expression that would give her away.
But Elena kept her expression neutral, as Lady Ulma continued, “Naturally, the restrictions would not apply to your—to Master Damon.”
“Naturally,” Elena said soberly.
“And now for the smallest beauty to go to the gala,” Lady Ulma was saying to Bonnie, who bit her lip, blushing. “I have something very special for you. I don’t know how long I’ve been yearning to work with this material. I’ve trudged by it in a shop window year after year, just aching to buy it and create with it. You see?” And the next set of sewing women came forward, holding a smaller, lighter frock between them, while Lady Ulma held up a sketch. Elena was already staring in amazement. The material was glorious—incredible—but especially clever was how it had been put together. The fabric was vivid peacock green-blue, with the most amazing hand stitching to represent a pattern of peacock eyes flaring up from the waist.
Bonnie’s brown eyes had widened again. “This is for me?” she breathed, almost afraid to touch the material.
“Yes, and we’re going to slick that hair of yours back until you look as sophisticated as your friend. Go ahead and try it on. I think you’ll like the way this dress has come out.” Lucen had retired and Meredith was already being carefully encased in the mermaid dress.
Bonnie happily began to strip.
Lady Ulma turned out to have been right. Bonnie loved the way she looked that evening. Right now she was being given the finishing touches, such as a delicate spray of citrus and rosewater; a fragrance made just for her. She stood before a giant silvered-glass mirror, just minutes before they were due to start off for the gala given by Fazina, the Silver Nightingale herself.
Bonnie turned a little, looking at the strapless, full-skirted dress in awe. Its bodice was made—or seemed to be made—entirely of the eyes of peacock feathers, arranged in a spray that was gathered together at her waist, showing off how tiny it was. There was another spray of larger feathers that pointed downward from the waist, front and back. The back actually had a small train of peacock feathers against emerald silk. In front, below the larger, downward pointing spray, a design worked in silver and gold, of stylized undulating plumes, all upside down, made its way to the bottom of the gown, which was edged with thin gold brocade.
As if this were not enough, Lady Ulma had had a fan made with real peacock eyes set in an emerald jade handle, with a tassel of softly clinking jade, citrine, and emerald charms at the bottom.
Around Bonnie’s throat was a matching necklace of jade, inlaid with emerald, sapphire, and lapis lazuli. And around each of her wrists were several emerald jade bracelets that clicked together whenever she moved, the symbol of her slavery.
But Bonnie’s eyes could hardly linger on them, and she couldn’t summon up a proper hatred of the bracelets. She was thinking of how a special hairdresser had come to “slick back” Bonnie’s strawberry-colored curls until, darkened into true red, they were plastered flat against her skull and held in place with jade and emerald clips. Her heart-shaped face had never looked so mature, so sophisticated. To emerald eyelids and kohl-darkened eyes, Lady Ulma had added a vivid red lipstick and had for once broken her rule and cleverly, wielding the brush herself, had added touches here and there of blusher so that Bonnie’s translucent skin looked as if she were constantly coloring at some compliment. Delicately carved jade earrings with golden bells inside completed the ensemble, and Bonnie felt as if she were some Princess of the Ancient Orient.
“It’s really some kind of miracle. Usually, I look like a pixie trying to dress up as a cheerleader or a flower girl,” she confided, kissing Lady Ulma again and again, delighted to find that the lipstick stayed on her lips instead of transferring to her benefactress’s cheeks. “But tonight I look like a young woman.”
She would have kept on babbling, helpless to stop herself even though Lady Ulma already was trying to discreetly dab tears away from her eyes, except that at that moment Elena came in and she gasped.
Elena’s dress had already been finished by the afternoon and so all Bonnie had seen of it was the sketch. But somehow that had failed to convey just what this dress would do for Elena.
Bonnie had secretly wondered if Lady Ulma were leaving too much to Elena’s own natural beauty, and was hoping that Elena would be as excited about her own dress as everyone seemed to be about Bonnie’s and Meredith’s.
Now Bonnie understood.
“It is a called a goddess dress,” Lady Ulma explained to the stunned silence in the room, as Elena walked in, and Bonnie dizzily thought that if goddesses had ever lived up on Mount Olympus, they would certainly have wanted to dress this way.
The trick of the dress lay in its very simplicity. It was made of milk-white silk, with a delicately pleated waist (Lady Ulma called the irregular tight pleating “ruching”) which held two simple bodice panels that formed a V-neckline, showing off Elena’s peach-blossom skin between them and behind them. These p
anels in turn were held at the shoulders by two carved clasps—gold inlaid with mother-of-pearl and diamonds. From the waist, the skirt fell straight in graceful, silken folds all the way to Elena’s delicate sandals—again designed in gold, mother-of-pearl and diamonds. In the back, the two panels that clasped at the shoulder became straps and crossed over to once again meet at the pleated waist.
Such a simple dress, but so magnificent on the right girl.
At Elena’s throat, an exquisitely designed golden and mother-of-pearl necklace in the stylized shape of a butterfly was inset with so many diamonds that it seemed to blaze with multicolored fire each time she moved and they caught the light. She wore this over the lapis and diamond pendant Stefan had given her, since she had flatly refused to take the pendant off. It didn’t matter. The butterfly covered the pendant completely.
On each wrist Elena wore a wide bracelet of gold and mother-of-pearl inset with diamonds, creations that they had found in the secret jewel room, obviously made to go with the necklace.
And that was all. Elena’s hair had been brushed and brushed and brushed until it formed a silky golden tumble of waves that hung below her shoulders in back, and she was wearing a touch of rose-colored lipstick. But her face, with its thick black eyelashes and lighter arched brows—and just now its look of excitement that parted her rose-colored lips and brought brilliant color to her cheeks—had been left entirely alone. Earrings that were just cascades of diamonds peeped through her gold tresses.
She’s going to drive them crazy tonight, Bonnie thought, eyeing the daring dress with envy, but not with jealousy, instead rather reveling in the thought of the sensation Elena would make. She’s wearing the simplest gown of any of us, but she still completely puts Meredith and me in the shade.
Yet Bonnie had never seen Meredith look better—or more exotic. She’d also never known what a stunning figure Meredith had, despite her friend’s wide assortment of designer clothes.
Meredith shrugged when Bonnie told her this. She had a fan, too, black lacquer, that folded. Now she opened it and folded it shut again, tapping her chin thoughtfully.
“We’re in the hands of a genius,” she said simply. “But we can’t forget what we’re really here for.”
26
“We have to keep our minds on saving Stefan,” Elena was saying in the room Damon had taken over for his own, the old library in Lady Ulma’s mansion.
“Where else would my mind be?” Damon said, never taking his eyes off her neck with its ornaments of mother-of-pearl and diamonds. Somehow the milk-white dress served to emphasize the slim soft column of Elena’s throat, and Elena knew it.
She sighed.
“If we thought you really meant it, then we could all just relax.”
“You mean be as relaxed as you are?”
Elena gave herself an inner shake. Damon might seem to be completely absorbed with one thing and one thing only, but his sense of self-preservation made sure that he was constantly on guard, and seeing not just what he wanted to see but everything that was around him.
And it was true that Elena was almost unbearably excited. Let the others think it was about her marvelous dress—and it was a marvelous dress, and Elena was profoundly grateful to Lady Ulma and her helpers for getting it done in time. What Elena was really excited about, though, was the chance—no, the certainty, she told herself firmly—that tonight she was going to find half of the key that would allow them to free Stefan. The thought of his face, of seeing him in the flesh was…
Was terrifying. Thinking about what Bonnie had said when she was asleep, Elena reached out for comfort and understanding, and somehow found that instead of holding Damon’s hand, she was in Damon’s arms.
The real question is: what will Stefan say about that night at the motel with Damon?
What would Stefan say? What was there to say?
“I’m frightened,” she heard, and a minute too late, recognized her own voice.
“Well, don’t think about it,” Damon said. “It’ll only make things worse.”
But I’ve lied, Elena thought. You don’t even remember it, or you’d be lying, too.
“Whatever happened, I promise I’ll still be around for you,” Damon said softly. “You’ve got my word on that, anyway.”
Elena could feel his breath against her hair. “And on keeping your mind on the key?”
Yes, yes, but I haven’t fed properly today. Elena started, then clasped Damon closer. For just an instant she’d felt, not merely a ravaging hunger, but a sharp pain that puzzled her. But now, before she could quite locate it in space, it was gone, and her connection to Damon had been abruptly cut off.
Damon.
“What?”
Don’t shut me out.
“I’m not. I’ve just said all there is to say, that’s all. You know I’ll be looking for the key.”
Thank you. Elena tried again. But you can’t just starve—
Who said I was starving? Now Damon’s telepathic connection was back, but something was missing. He was deliberately holding something back, and concentrating on assaulting her senses with something else—hunger. Elena could feel it rampaging in him, as if he were a tiger or wolf that had gone for days—for weeks—without making a kill.
The room did a slow spin around her.
“It’s…all right,” she whispered, amazed that Damon was able to stand and hold her at all, with his insides tearing at him that way. “Whatever…you need…take…”
And then she felt the most gentle probing at her throat of razor-sharp teeth.
She gave herself up to it, surrendering to the sensations.
In preparation for the Silver Nightingale’s gala, where they would be searching for the first half of the double fox key to release Stefan, Meredith had been reading some of the hard copy she’d stuffed into her bag, from the huge amount of information she had downloaded from the Internet. She had done her best to describe everything that she’d learned to Elena and the others. But how could she be sure that she hadn’t missed some vital clue, some vastly important thread of information that would make all the difference tonight between success and failure? Between finding a way to save Stefan and coming home defeated, while he languished in prison.
No, she thought, standing by a silvered mirror, almost afraid to look at the exotic beauty she had become. No, we can’t even think of the word failure. For the sake of Stefan’s life, we have to succeed. And we have to do it without getting caught.
27
Elena felt confident and just a little light-headed as they set out for the Silver Nightingale’s gala. However, when the four of them arrived on litters—Damon with Elena, Meredith with Bonnie (Lady Ulma being forbidden by her doctor to go to any festivities while she was pregnant)—at the Honorable Lady Fazina’s palatial home, she was struck with something like terror.
The house was truly a palace, in the best of story-telling tradition, she thought. Minarets and towers soared above them, probably painted in blue and lavish gilt, but turned lavender by the sunlight, and looking almost lighter than air. To complement the sunlight, torches had been lit on either side of the path of the litters up the hill and some chemical had been added—or some magic used—to make their lights shine in varying colors so that they changed from golden, to red, to purple, to blue, to green, to silver, and these colors shone true. They took Elena’s breath away, as the only things that were not tinged with red in the whole world that she could see. Damon had brought a bottle of Black Magic with him and was almost too high-spirited—no pun intended, Elena thought.
As their litter stopped at the top of the hill, Damon and Elena were helped out and down a hallway that cut out much of the sunlight. Above them hung delicate, lighted paper lanterns—some larger than the litter they’d been in a moment ago—brightly lighted and fancifully shaped which gave a festive, playful air to a palace otherwise so magnificent that it was a little intimidating.
They passed by lighted fountains, some of which ha
d surprises—like the line of magical frogs that constantly leaped from lily pad to lily pad: plop, plop, plop, like the sound of rain on a rooftop, or a huge gilded serpent that coiled among trees and over the heads of visitors, winding from there to the ground and then back up to the trees again.
Then again, it was the ground that would turn transparent with all manner of magical schools of fish, sharks, eels, and dolphins cavorting, while in the dim blue depths far below loomed the figure of a gigantic whale. Elena and Bonnie hurried quickly over this portion of the path.
It was clear that the owner of this estate could afford any kind of extravaganza her heart desired, and that above all things what she enjoyed the chiefest was music, for in each area, splendidly—sometimes bizarrely—dressed orchestra were playing, or there might be only one famous soloist, singing from a high gilded cage perhaps twenty-five feet above the ground.
Music…music and lights everywhere…
Elena herself, although thrilled by the sights, sounds, and glorious scents coming from huge banks of flowers as well as from the guests, both male and female, felt a slight fear like a small rock in her stomach. She had thought her dress and diamonds so elaborate when she had left Lady Ulma’s estate. But now that she was here at Lady Fazina’s…well, there were too many rooms, too many people, as fancifully and finely clad as herself and her sister “personal assistants.” She was afraid that—well, that that woman over there, dripping jewels from her delicate three-tier diamond and emerald tiara to her delicate diamond-circled toes, made her own unadorned hair look dowdy or laughable, at such a grand affair.
Do you know how old she is? Elena almost jumped to hear Damon’s voice in her head.
Who? Elena replied, trying at least to keep her envy—her worry—out of her telepathic voice. And am I projecting that loudly? she added in alarm.
