by April Smyth
“Sorry, Ang,” he shrugs and for the first time since Paris, he smirks.
She rolls her eyes and sighs dramatically so the man painting the door turns round to see what is happening. She slaps a key into Gabe’s hand and speaks venomously, “Back door on the west wing. Turn left. Take the spiral staircase. Turn right. Use this key to unlock the door to the Andromeda suite. Last staircase. You’ve arrived. Absolutely no other stops. Straight there. I don‘t have time for your… dillydallying”
“Got it, sweetheart,” Gabe laughs softly which makes Angelica screw her small eyes up even further so they are just dark slits in her rigid face.
Angelica smiles at me, “Nice meeting you, Cassie, see you at your party.”
We walk around the perimeter of the house to a paradisiacal garden with beautiful flowers and shrubs cut and a magnificent fountain which looks like dolphins splashing in the ocean. I could get lost for hours in this garden. Reading books and listening to music. Feeling like the only person in the world. More staff are fiddling with vines and flowers, two are cleaning the fountain so the water is going soapy and overflowing with suds. Maurice’s employees certainly work hard to keep the presentation of his home flawless. But I don’t get to spend much time admiring the landscaping.
Gabe pushes open a wooden slat door and I follow behind. It shuts behind us with a creak then a slam. “This is the west wing,” Gabe explains as if he has taken it upon himself to be a tour guide. Probably an instruction from Angelica or Maurice. But I didn’t think Gabe was one for adhering to the rules. “It has been the last part of the house to be renovated,” he runs his fingers against the grey stone walls of the narrow hallway we stand in. “As you can see.”
Canvases with oil paintings of mythological creatures and naked women are hanging on the wall but otherwise it is a desolate cave. There’s a door at the end of the corridor where it splits into two. “This door…” Gabe knocks gently on the wood of the door. “Leads to the Grand Hall, the heart of Maurice’s house, where your party will be.” He presses his ear against the door and urges me to do the same. I hear bustling of people, hundreds of voices, and clattering of dishes. I throw my senses out to search for Rose’s voice, bossing people about so the party reaches the perfection Rose longs for but I can’t hear her. The noise makes me stomach flip. All this for me?
We turn left where the dim grey corridor ends with stone, spiralling stairs. The steps are steep and narrow so I almost lose my balance a few times. Make it to your room without injuring yourself, Cassie. I mentally walk myself through the process. I just want to get settled before causing a scene. It has been two weeks since the car crash and nothing terribly bad has happened. Yet.
I’m out of breath by the time we reach the top of the staircase where there is a gold plaque with the words WEST WING. 2nD FLOOR engraved in neat cursive. We turn right. Gabe moves in front of me robotically. In my head, I go through Angelica’s instructions which begins to sound like marching soldiers chanting left, right, left, right, left.
This corridor is not grey and stony and bare like the first floor. There is a thin fuzz of navy blue carpet on the ground and white and grey pinstripe wallpaper creeps up the sides. The same interesting oil paintings hang on the wall, dotted between each door. “Here we are,” Gabe says, stopping outside a door which, like Angelica said, has ‘the Andromeda Suite’ stamped into the white wood.
Gabe slips the key into the lock but doesn’t turn it, “I want to show you something first.” Angelica’s snide voice pops into my head ‘absolutely no stops… straight there… dillydallying.’ The cogs in her well-oiled machine were beginning to grind. I can understand why she resents Gabe so much. I think of the workers I’d seen outside; Gabe is the only person not cooperating.
“Maybe I should just go up to my room,” I say but I’m not doing it for Angelica’s sake, not even for Rose, I say it because I’m afraid Gabe will get into trouble.
“No, it’s fine, Angie won’t be up for ages. They have so much to do,” he says, putting the key back into his pocket. “Come on, Bullet.”
I turn a bit pink with the mention of his new nickname for me. Nobody ever has cute pet names for me. Well, I suppose Cassie isn’t my real name. I was born Cassandra but I haven’t been called that for as long as I can remember, I’ve always been Cassie.
I know I should hold my ground outside the Andromeda Suite. Wait for Gabe to come back, let me in so neither of us will get into trouble from Angelica but when Gabe starts to swagger down the hallway, I can’t help but follow him.
“Where are we going?” I ask, catching up with him.
I am uneasy about wandering around Maurice's home without permission. The sun was starting to lose its fiery heat when we entered the house and I wouldn't like to bump into a grumpy vampire who has just woken up. Especially since nobody seems to like Gabe very much in the first place, being in his company might not be the most sensible start.
“In here,” Gabe says pointing to a door, not too far from the Andromeda Suite which I stare at nervously. This door is unlocked, Gabe pushes it open and walks in, I precede. The room is completely dark except for one or two caverns in the wall where candles flicker and a plush tweed chair.
“What is this?” I ask, I screw up my eyes to try and capture some of the faint images in front of me but it's so dark.
Gabe's hand hovers behind the small of my back, he is being precise so not to actually touch me. I think about him drunk and slurring on the hotel room floor, repulsed at the thought of me touching him like being a freak was contagious. Most people would love to catch my disease: a mutation that makes you feel immortal, isn't life threatening and involves no crippling pain. Who wouldn't want that? Me? Gabe too apparently.
“Over here,” he gently guides me forward. “Have your eyes adjusted yet?”
“Yes, sort of,” I say. The back wall of this room is made of glass which reveals another compartment of the house. The glass is thick and cloudy and because it's so dark, I can barely see a thing. “What am I looking at?”
“This is the surveillance room,” Gabe says and leans against the wooden handrail which halves the glass wall. He presses his nose against the glass and grabs my hand to pull me closer. The touch of his cool fingers is electrifying and I pull away like I've just been jabbed. He pretends not to notice my reaction and we both sit in silence with our heads squashed against the opaque glass. The only noise is our breathing which weave intricately into each other to creature a soft lullaby.
“Can you see anything yet?” Gabe asks.
“It's so dark,” I reply.
“It was built hundreds of years ago when Maurice requested scientists watch him while he sleeps during the day,” Gabe explains. “If you look you can see where he lies.” I can’t see anything yet. “I think he's awake now...” Gabe traces the shape of the metal bed on the glass. It lies in the middle of the dark room across from us. I shiver. Maurice is awake, will he be looking for me? Or will he wait until the party for my grand entrance?
“I see it now,” I say, my voice shaky.
The metal bed looks like something I have seen in an operation room. I've only been operated on once. After the first big accident, the doctors shred me open to no avail. I don't even have the scars to prove it. I'm glad. I hated it. The anesthetic which would normally knock somebody out during a operation faded out of my system much quicker than a normal person so I kept waking up with strange alien doctors prodding at my insides, pain that would disappear as quickly as it arrived but still the discomfort of somebody stirring at my organs like a bowl of porridge. The memory that the empty, sterile bed conjures up makes me wince and turn away. “We should head back.”
Why did he bring me here? The sight makes me feel sick. I don't know what I anticipated a vampires resting place to look like but this wasn't it. Coffins or luxurious four poster beds seem more apt, maybe some vampires – the ones in America – live like that. There is something too clinical about this, I think, an
d the idea of the surveillance room is creepy. Imagine watching a sleeping vampire all day. Watching their completely still body, emotionless face. There is nothing human about their hibernation. Why would Gabe want me to see this?
“Probably. Ang will lose her mind,” Gabe says but he doesn't seem worried. “There's nothing I could do to make them hate me more anyway.”
Words and questions dance on my pursed lips. They're taunting me. Say it. Ask him why he hates working for Maurice so much, ask him why he's so angry all the time, ask him about Claire. Tell him that I think he’s beautiful, that it pains me to watch him on a path of self-destruction? However, no matter how much I want to appear brave, I’m a coward at heart.
TEN
My eyes sting when we leave the surveillance room and back into the harsh lighting of the hallway. I can see Angelica waiting at the door of the Andromeda Suite at the end of the hall, her skeletal arms folded across her flat chest, her leather boots tapping impatiently.
Luckily she doesn't see which room we have left. When we approach her, her head snaps up and she glares, “Where were you, Gabriel?”
“Took Cassie on a tour,” Gabe shrugs and shows Angelica a glimpse of his lopsided smile which makes my heart stop involuntarily.
“What didn't you understand when I told you to come straight here? We are going to be late for the party now. Thanks a lot,” she dismisses him and Gabe stalks off with his hands shoved into his pockets.
She turns to me and assesses me with her snake eyes, “You shouldn't listen to that boy, Cassie, he is bad news.”
I nod like a child being punished by a teacher, not listening, not soaking in the reprehension but agreeing to keep the peace. Angelica unlocks the door which reveals a staircase which is very narrow. Chec would never be able to fit up here. I walk precariously up the steps behind Angelica's bony bottom.
The Andromeda Suite has clearly been one of the few rooms in the West Wing that has been renovated. I feel like I've walked inside a nugget of gold. The wallpaper is covered in tiny gold flecks. The bed frame, the sheets, the cushions, the chaise longue. All glittering gold.
To the left of the four poster bed, with gold sheer drapes, is a walk in wardrobe. The wooden shutters painted gold and lying open to reveal all the wonderful contents: clothes, shoes, handbags. The strong scent of floral perfumes wafts our way and makes me cough a little. This is paradise. For somebody like Rose at least. I can't deny it's beautiful but I'd rather be outside in the garden or looking at the cars.
Angelica doesn't appear to want to make small talk. She unzips my case and yanks out the jewellery Maurice bought me. It was only yesterday that I first felt the tough edges of the crescent moon pendant but it seems like a lifetime ago. Angelica pulls a dress which is wrapped in layers of clear plastic from the walk in wardrobe.
"Maurice picked this for you," she says, tearing into the packaging with her small claws. The dress is pretty. Midnight blue, low dip at the neck, draping to the floor and Maurice's signature… diamonds creating the shape of a crescent moon across the bust of the dress. I have never worn a formal dress like this before. I've never been to a wedding or a ball and I didn't want to go to prom either. I would feel more insecure in an extravagant gown than I did in Rose's sexy outfit yesterday.
I am stripped bare and Angelica covers my body in a sweet sugar scrub, buffs it until my skin shines like the gold in the room or the crystalline moon on my dress. I am used to having little modesty because of all my hospital appointments where there is nothing but a thin blue paper gown between me and the hospital staff so I don't blink much at being naked in front of Angelica. She doesn't seem to be interested in my body anyway. She throws a pair of nude pants and I put them on quickly, I'm afraid that if I move too slowly that she will shout at me. I slip into the dress, the silk is soft against my freshly scrubbed skin and I stare into the mirror.
Angelica stands behind me, admiring her work. "You look much better. Now let me do your make up," she says and gives me a swift shove on to the bed.
While Angelica works on my face, I begin to panic about the looming party. I will meet Maurice for the first time. All I know about him is that he is very rich and extravagant and he is besotted with me. Two concepts which are completely foreign to me and my old life. I also think about Gabe's stern face whenever Maurice's name is mentioned. I feel ill. Angelica bark at me to stop shaking because it is making it hard for her to pencil in my eyebrows.
Once she's done, she turns me round to look in the mirror. I expect not to recognise myself like when Rose painted my face but in fact I am very impressed with Angelica's artwork. I look beautiful. It makes me laugh. I am radiating like the bedroom I stand in, like a little piece of sunshine or a star. My cheeks are shiny and dewy, my blue eyes pop out of silver fairy dust, my lips are enhanced with clear gloss. I look like me, only better.
Angelica doesn't ask me if I like it. I don't think she cares. She is focussed on perfection and my opinion isn't even crossing her mind. She starts on my hair. I wish Rose was here to do this now because even though her ideas of her beauty were extravagant and not necessarily to my taste, she at least treated me with some respect. Angelica tugs at my hair with a brush viciously and then drags her sharp fingernails across my head to put my hair into a middle parting. My blonde hair normally sits like a nest on the top of my head. Free to do as it pleases, never tamed and certainly not used to it when somebody tells it what to do. My hair is the longest process of all and eventually Angelica settles for sitting it in a neat bun at the top of my head, lacquering it with hairspray. "Thank you," I say.
"I didn't think I could achieve what I have," she grins at me and I give her a twirl. I want to snap back at her with something rude but I just smile graciously. "Well, it's time," Angelica says, "Are you ready? You look pale."
I feel nauseous, my stomach is flipping, sweat is beginning to rub off Angelica's masterpiece on my face. This is what it must feel like when you're ill, I remind myself. The way I should have felt after my big accidents. Bad, anxious. I groan and take hold of Angelica's arm as she offers to walk me down the stairs. We don't go back down the way I came with Gabe, probably because everything is ready for my viewing. We carry on past the surveillance room, I think of the metal bed where Maurice spends his days which only makes my nervousness tenfold worse.
My grip tightens around Angelica's arm, grabbing the loose flesh around her elbow. We follow through a door which states we have entered the North Wing and walk down a set of stairs which are much grander than the ones in the West Wing. Everywhere is red: scarlet, burgundy, auburn, crimson. I can hear the rumbling of voices and a plaque which says GRAND HALL. I remember Gabe telling me this is the hub of Maurice's home, where my party was being held. Behind that door is a whole celebration just for me. Maurice will be waiting for me. I fiddle with the skirt of my dress and my mouth feels dry. Need a drink. Where's Rose? Or Gabe? I want to see a comforting face. Never thought I'd find Gabe's scowl comforting.
"Are you okay?" Angelica asks. We pause outside the door where the noise is now raucous.
I nod and swallow deliberately, "Yes, I'm fine."
Two men in tuxedos enter and smile at me. Wide, sinister grins. "Good evening, Cassie," they say together in an adorable American accent. They should be in movies.
"Justin and Channing will escort you through, Cassie, I need to change," I thought Angelica looked appropriately dressed for a party but obviously she had other plans. She walks off, the sound of her heels clicking on the red wood floor is drowned out by the collection of voices and booming music floating from the Grand Hall. The two men, who I quickly recognise are the same men who were shifting furniture outside when I arrived, are meltingly handsome. I can hear the girls from my school giggling at their pearly white smiles. Their perfect faces just make me feel more shaky. I want to throw up. I never have before as a result of my stellar immune system but my body is telling me that I need to throw up. I don't though, even if I could it would be sa
crilege in such a beautiful dress. Instead I loop my arms into Justin's and Channing's. They stand either side of me, at least six feet tall like sturdy bookends.
"Are you okay, Miss Mueller?" one of them asks. The one with darker hair and stubble. The other is fair haired and clean shaven. The only distinguishable difference as they are both impossibly handsome. Perhaps they are brothers.
I nod, "Yes. Let's just get this over with."
Fair haired man pushes open the door to the Grand Hall with the tip of his shiny shoe and I am thrusted into my new world. My mind almost goes black when I realise how familiar the scene is to me. Straight from a dream. My dream. From last night. The nightmare with the garish pinks and orange cream puffs and outlandish clothes. I look around me, at the strange faces. I'm begging to see Rose or Gabe but I can't find them in the vast ocean of people. Waves of colour ebbing and flowing around the room. There are fountains with champagne effervescing over the sides and the most colourful, sickeningly rich foods strewn along a banquet. There are circular tables around the perimeter of the hall with blue orchids as the centrepiece and silver jewels dripping from the vases. All this for me. I touch my quivering lips with a finger. Justin and Channing are looking at each other, wondering if they should be prepared to catch me and carry me somewhere safe if I faint. But they don't realise I never faint. The motions come, the sickness pounces on me but I still stand straight. I'm fine. On the outside, I'm always fine.
My eyes dart across the room. It is almost exactly like how my dreams conjured up. Now I had to wait for the evil face from Gabe's tattoo. I hope that part can remain a figment of my imagination, just ink on Gabe's arm. Not real. This isn't real, I remind myself. As people dance around me, waltzing in dresses like pink meringues and icy blue tuxedos. Some people even have decadent masks covering their eyes. But most people are staring at me. They chat, flutes of champagne in their hands, but their eyes are not focussing on their conversation or the cake they stuff into their painted mouths. They are drawn to me. The new girl in the blue dress. I wish Angelica hadn't made me look so radiating. So effortlessly beautiful in a sea of extravagance and over-the-top, my simplicity stuck out like a bloody scar on my porcelain skin. Where is Gabe? I would take his cold glare over these strangers' hot stares a thousand times over. He won't even touch me but these people are desperate to get their hands on me. I wish I had told Rose about my dream now. About the clown like faces. About the vampire with the strawberries and fangs dripping with my blood. Wish I wasn't alone in this dream world, stuck in limbo between what images are from my nightmares and which are the real, tangible people and objects in front of me.
