Falling Dark

by Christine Pope

So by the time seven o’clock rolled around, I was ravenously hungry and cranky as hell. The second part wasn’t so bad; a vaguely hostile stare could actually work to my benefit on the runway. As for the rest of it, well, I figured I’d stuff myself at the reception after the show. I just had to hope the caterers would be providing something I liked, rather than bruised kale or some other abomination that would have me crying inside for an In-N-Out burger.

  And I actually managed to get through the show without making an utter fool of myself. It took place in a warehouse over in Santa Monica — inwardly, I’d groaned when I learned where the venue was located, just because then Silas would have to drive that much farther to get me when it was all over — but it wasn’t the utter fiasco I’d been fearing. I didn’t trip over my heels, or get overcome by a vision at exactly the wrong moment, which was about all I could ask for. Also, I couldn’t help thinking what he might make of me when he returned, because of course I was far more done up than he’d ever seen me before, with smoky shadow making my eyes look enormous, and my nearly waist-length hair worked into long, lustrous waves.

  Wishful thinking, probably. I’d never seen him have the slightest reaction to my appearance, for good or ill. It made sense, if he wanted matters to stay strictly business between the two of us, but….

  But nothing, I told myself as I slithered out of a hand-beaded evening gown and into the dead simple but perfectly cut short black dress Vanessa had told me I must wear at the reception. Actually, I was glad of the loan, just because if I hadn’t been so rushed, I would have known that faded jeans and an army green T-shirt weren’t exactly the proper attire for a cocktail reception.

  After the show, everyone made their way outside, where a large pavilion had been set up in the warehouse’s parking lot. To my relief, the food provided was downright traditional — meatballs on toothpicks, little tea sandwiches, even rumaki — probably because the entire show had had a sort of retro-glam feel. Really, the dress Vanessa had loaned me would have been worthy of Audrey Hepburn. I just had to hope no one there would look at me and decide I didn’t quite measure up in comparison.

  I loaded up one of the small black glass plates that had been provided on the buffet table, snagged a flute of champagne, and tried to look as if I was having a wonderful time. Most of the models seemed to know one another, or the fashion critics and buyers and photographers who’d populated the audience, and my sister was off to one side having what looked like an intense discussion with a woman in late middle age, with an iron-gray bob and enormous silver hoop earrings. Probably another buyer, although I didn’t know for sure. I didn’t exist in this world; my orbit might cross into it every once in a while, but that didn’t mean I knew who any of its players were.

  So I stood off to one side and watched the crowd, who were so different from the people I bumped into at the Trader Joe’s in Pasadena that they might as well have been from another planet. Vanessa had given me a tiny little black satin bag to go with the dress, and my phone was stowed inside the purse, so I couldn’t tell what time it was. Pulling it out to take a look would seem rude, especially since I knew that, even though the reception felt as if it had already dragged on for hours, probably only about fifteen or twenty minutes had passed. There was no way I could call Silas to rescue me until at least eight-thirty, maybe later.

  Then a chill moved down my spine, and a voice I’d never heard before, low and soft and yet somehow menacing, said, “Hello, Serena.”

  I turned to see who the speaker was and almost dropped the plate of food and flute of champagne I held.

  Standing there before me, his gray eyes seeming to bore into my skull, was the vampire from my vision.

  Chapter Seven

  How did I know it was him, even though I’d never seen his face?

  No one else could have those eyes, like hard, glinting, polished silver. I felt the recognition of what he was somewhere deep within me, a wrongness that wasn’t quite nausea, wasn’t quite a shortness of breath or a fever, but some horrible mix of all three. The rich food I’d just eaten churned in my stomach.

  I seemed to be alone in realizing that he was simply wrong, a creature that shouldn’t be. All around us, people chatted and laughed and ate and drank, none of them paying the least attention to the tall man in the dark suit who had gone up to talk to one of the models.

  Somehow I managed to push past my physical reaction to him to focus on the details of his appearance, the flaxen-pale hair pulled into a ponytail at the base of his neck, the aquiline nose, the dark brows, the broad shoulders beneath the black suit jacket he wore. Objectively speaking, he was quite striking, the sort of man who would make heads turn when he entered a room.

  Only I knew he wasn’t a man at all.

  “How are you here?” I whispered fiercely. Perhaps it was the presence of the other people in the pavilion that gave me the courage to ask such a question. “You can’t be here.”

  “Oh, I’m afraid I can,” he replied, offering me a small, amused smile as he did so. His canines were slightly pointed, but not so much that they would invite comment. I’d met people who certainly weren’t vampires who had the same sort of teeth. Still smiling, he reached in his pocket and pulled out a piece of cream-colored card stock. Turning it toward me, he added, “You see, I was invited.”

  I glared at the card, realizing as I scanned the words it contained that it was in fact an invitation to my sister’s show. How he’d gotten it, I had no idea, but I supposed that didn’t matter now. What mattered was that he stood in front of me, and I had no idea what to do next. Make a scene, call him out — not as a vampire, but possibly as someone who’d made an inappropriate pass at me? Anything that would get him thrown out of the pavilion.

  No, that wouldn’t work. For one thing, I knew I would never hear the end of it if I created that kind of a disturbance at my sister’s reception. Maybe it was cowardly of me, but I knew how my family would react if I stepped one toe out of line.

  But even if I could summon the courage to do such a thing, I guessed it would be in vain. This person — this thing — was a vampire, not an investor who’d gotten a little handsy. Silas had talked about how vampires could summon the darkness to help them in a confrontation. Did I really want to see what might happen if the one who confronted me now was faced with any sort of a challenge?

  “Fine,” I said, as calmly as I could. “What is it you want…Lucius?”

  “Ah, so I see you’ve learned something of who I am.”

  “A little.” A waiter went past us with a tray of champagne, and I exchanged my nearly empty flute for another. Then I summoned a mock-sweet smile and said, “Would you like one, Mr. Montfort?”

  Of course I’d been hoping that he would recoil, would refuse the drink. After all, he was a vampire. Could he even consume anything except human blood?

  To my disappointment, he replied, “Yes, thank you,” and took the flute of champagne the waiter offered him as if it was the most natural thing in the world. After the man had gone, Lucius said, “I can drink champagne, Miss Quinn. And wine, and a number of other distracting beverages. Just as I can sit down to dinner and eat a perfectly normal meal. The only difference is that it does not provide me with the…necessary nutrition, if you will.”

  I added those tidbits to my admittedly scanty store of knowledge about vampires. Because I needed a little time to settle my thoughts, I sipped from the champagne I’d procured for myself, while at the same time depositing my plate of half-eaten food on the small table that stood behind me. During this operation, Lucius drank some of his own champagne, piercing silver eyes never leaving me for a second.

  “So what do you want?” I asked.

  His eyebrows went up, as if he was surprised — or possibly offended — by the question. “To talk,” he said. “I thought that perhaps you would be more open to discussion in a neutral setting such as this one.”

  I highly doubted that, but I couldn’t help being curious as to why he’d want to
talk to me at all. As a human, wasn’t I simply prey, something he couldn’t possibly consider an equal? “It is neutral,” I admitted. “Or rather, not the sort of place where you’d be noticed as easily. My sister’s events do tend to attract an eclectic crowd.”

  For just a second he glanced away from me and at the crowd, all of whom were carrying on with their eating and drinking and talking, completely unaware that a dangerous, unnatural predator stood in their midst. “Are you saying that my appearance would otherwise attract attention?”

  “Just making an observation, Mr. Montfort.”

  “Lucius, please.” He smiled, but I realized then what was so off-putting about those smiles. It wasn’t the sharp teeth, or the way the expression never reached those icy eyes of his. No, it was the way the muscles of his face moved, as if he had to force them to do as he wished because over the centuries they’d forgotten what a spontaneous muscle movement was supposed to look like. He went on, “You know that you are a young woman of unique gifts, Miss Quinn. I would like to see that those gifts are properly utilized.”

  “Oh, is that why you sent one of your lapdogs to assault me on the street?”

  The smile faded. I wasn’t sure which was worse — the smile, or the absence of one. Right then he looked as if he wanted to lunge for my throat, and only held back because of the crowd that surrounded us. “My apologies for the way the situation was handled. I didn’t think my servant would become violent. But it turns out that you had your own protector, didn’t you?”

  “A Good Samaritan came to help me out, yes,” I said cautiously. It was entirely possible that Lucius Montfort knew everything about Silas already. But just in case he didn’t, I wanted to make sure I didn’t provide any damning details.

  “Oh, yes, Silas the defender.” One corner of Lucius’ mouth lifted, but the smirk didn’t prevent him from drinking some more of his champagne. “I fear he hasn’t quite told you the whole truth.”

  I wanted to argue with that remark, but I couldn’t. Not really. I’d only be lying to myself if I didn’t acknowledge how much Silas had kept to himself. Yes, he’d provided me with a good deal of information…but never quite enough, and nothing about himself. “And what is the ‘whole truth’?”

  “Much more than I could tell you this evening, that is for certain.” He moved closer to me, and I had to steel myself to hold my ground, to not flinch away even though every muscle in my body was shrilling with a healthy burst of fight-or-flight chemicals. “But I thought I should warn you of the danger in listening to only one side. You rarely get the whole story that way.”

  “Maybe not,” I allowed. “However, you’re going to have to be a hell of a talker to persuade me that your side is the good side.”

  “Did I say that?” His shoulders lifted, and once again those steely eyes made a quick scan of the people closest by, as if to make sure that no one was listening to our conversation. “When you’ve lived as long as I have, Miss Quinn, you’ll come to realize that nothing is black and white, only infinite gradations of gray.”

  I didn’t miss the way he’d phrased that particular remark. And I really didn’t like it. “Are you implying that I’ll have your long life? I’ll tell you now that I’m not interested.”

  His expression didn’t change. “A slip of the tongue. My pardon. I was merely attempting to let you know that Silas is not quite the hero you think he is.”

  “Is that a fact.”

  My flat response didn’t seem to faze the vampire one bit. “Oh, yes. I will not lie to you, Serena. Of course I have my own motives for reaching out to you. But Silas also has his. Perhaps you should ask him precisely why he came to your aid last week.”

  “Why, because seeing a woman getting attacked in the street wasn’t reason enough?” Even as the words left my mouth, I knew how disingenuous they were. It was entirely possible that Silas actually would help any random stranger in that situation, but my case was different. He’d flat out told me that he’d come to my aid because of what I was, because my visions made me valuable.

  “For some, it might be. In his case….” Lucius’ words trailed off, but from the way one eyebrow arched slightly, I could tell that he didn’t think much of Silas’ motives.

  Right then, I didn’t know what the hell I should be thinking. I did know that Silas and I would have to have a good long talk in the very near future.

  If I survived this encounter with Lucius Montfort, that is.

  I lifted my champagne flute to my lips and took a sip, steeling myself for what I needed to do next. “Well, Mr. Montfort, I suppose I’ll have to take that under advisement. However, I don’t believe that you and I have much else to say to one another. No matter what Silas’ motives might be, I’m really not interested in any proposals you might make.”

  And then I took a breath and began to step away, praying that the presence of all the other reception attendees around us would be enough to prevent Lucius from making a move. Those prayers weren’t answered, however, because at once he reached out with a pale hand and wrapped his fingers around my forearm, stopping me from going any further. His flesh was ice-cold, his grip stronger than I could have imagined, given the overall slenderness of his frame.

  “I don’t believe we’ve finished our conversation,” he murmured into my ear as he pulled me back toward him.

  “Oh, I think you have.”

  Silas’ voice. I turned as best I could in his direction, given Lucius Montfort’s death grip on my arm, and saw Silas approaching from my other side, his face a mask of cold fury. He came up to the vampire and said, also in an undertone, “Don’t make me do it. You know how much you dislike attracting attention.”

  Thin lips pulling back in a snarl, Lucius at once let go of my arm. His gaze fixed on Silas, he demanded, “You think to intimidate me?”

  “If that’s what’s required, yes. But you should keep in mind that you have a great deal more to lose than I do, should you be exposed.”

  For the briefest second, the vampire glanced over at me. His eyes narrowed as he returned his attention to Silas. “Oh, I think you stand to lose a good deal as well.”

  The barest lift of Silas’ shoulders. Voice steady, he said, “This is a public place. There could be…questions.”

  A silence fell. I didn’t dare breathe. I could almost hear the thoughts ticking over in Lucius Montfort’s head as he pondered whether continuing to pursue me was worth the risk of exposure. Yes, it seemed as if everyone in the crowd was absorbed in their own conversations, their own little worlds, but one whiff of trouble, and there would be a battalion of iPhones pointed in our direction, recording the whole thing.

  If you could even capture a vampire’s image on camera. I’d have to ask Silas about that. Assuming we all survived our current face-off.

  Finally, Lucius let go of my arm. Slowly, though, as if to demonstrate that he was doing so of his own volition. “This is not the last of the matter, Silas.”

  He didn’t blink, his eyes hard as he stared back at the vampire, face so still it might have been carved from stone. “No, I didn’t assume it would be.”

  Turning toward me, Lucius nodded his head slightly. “À bientôt, cherie.”

  Then he was gone, moving toward the pavilion’s exit. Everyone in his path automatically got out of the way, as though obeying some unspoken command.

  Only then did my heart beat begin to slow down. Chills broke out all over me, as if my body had been too petrified until that moment to allow itself any physical reaction. More than ever, I wished I could run to Silas and have him put his arms around me, hold me close and tell me it would be all right.

  Instead, I looked up at him. His jaw was set, his lips pressed together. Was that anger or fear I saw in his face…or perhaps a little of both?

  A million questions raced around in my head, so I asked the first one that came to mind. “What was that he said at the end? I didn’t quite catch it — I took Spanish in school.”

  Silas stared down
at me, still unsmiling. “It means ‘soon, my dear.’”

  * * *

  We slipped out after that. Or rather, Silas waited for me outside while I retrieved my personal belongings from the van that had ferried me and the other models over here to the warehouse for the show. Luckily, my sister was embroiled in a conversation with a stunning black woman whose braids fell to her waist and an older Latin-looking man, maybe more buyers. She didn’t even notice as I located the van’s driver and had him unlock the door so I could fetch my purse and the clothes I’d worn earlier in the day.

  I thanked him, then shoved the bundle under one arm and went to meet Silas over at his truck. Although the day had been mellow enough, now that the sun was down, the air was cool and damp on my bare arms and legs, bringing with it the fog coming off the ocean. I shivered, although I wasn’t quite sure whether my shivers were more due to that frightening encounter with Lucius Montfort than the actual air temperature. It didn’t help that the parking lot wasn’t nearly as well lighted as I would have liked. My imagination conjured legions of vampires lurking in the shadows, ready to pounce. I tried to tell myself that was silly, because Silas had made it sound as if Lucius only had a few true vampires in his cabal. But I didn’t have any idea how many of his semivive slaves he had working for him. Right then, my scalp crawled and my skin prickled with goosebumps at the thought that I might be surrounded by Montfort’s half-alive minions, and I wouldn’t even know it.

  Silas already had the pickup running; a welcome wave of warm air from the heater greeted me as I opened the door and got inside. As soon as I had my seatbelt fastened, we were moving, headed over toward the 10 Freeway for the long drive home.

  A minute went by, then another. I sneaked a peek at him from below my lashes, but it was difficult for me to see anything of his expression in the muted glow from the dashboard’s instruments. Was he angry?

  Maybe. His jaw did look way too tense. I had to hope his anger wasn’t directed at me. Not that I was at all responsible for that lovely little encounter with Mr. Montfort. How in the world could I ever have guessed he would be able to wrangle an invitation to my sister’s show?