“Perhaps her home theater system has been dismantled?”
“I guess,” Cally conceded. Maybe there was a simple, innocent answer after all. Maybe the Baron was right: she was simply being paranoid and her mother was okay. The last time she was in the apartment Walther and Sinclair, the two undead servants her father had assigned to her relocation, were busily packing up the Montures’ belongings so they could be shipped overseas. However, as Cally walked down the hall toward her apartment, she saw that the door was hanging crookedly on busted hinges, its dead bolt shattered.
After months of enduring her mother’s wall-shaking home theater system, the neighbors had no doubt learned to tune out loud noises coming from their apartment. They probably wrote off sounds from the break-in as simply sound effects from yet another movie.
“Mom!” Cally cried. She lunged for the broken door, but Baron Metzger stopped her.
“You stay here,” he said firmly. “I’ll go in. Your father will have my head on a platter—and I don’t mean figuratively—if anything happens to you.”
Cally wanted to argue, but the look Metzger gave her made it clear he was not going to tolerate any dissent. She grudgingly nodded and stepped aside, watching as he entered through the ruined door. A few moments later he reemerged from the apartment with a grim look on his face.
“What’s going on? What happened?” Cally asked, bobbing up and down, trying to peer over his shoulders. “Where’s my mother? Is she hurt? Mom? Mom, it’s me!” she shouted as she tried to push past the Baron.
“You don’t want to go in there, Cally.” Metzger shook his head. “There are three bodies: two male and one female.”
“What?” Cally gasped. “I don’t believe you! I want to see for myself!”
Metzger held her arms, pinning them to her sides. “Take it from me; you do not want to see your mother like that! The Van Helsings must have thought she was one of us….”
“No—you’re wrong. I know you are!” Cally kept shaking her head, as if by denying what she was being told she could somehow change reality. “You have to be!”
“She was holding this,” Metzger said. He reached into his coat pocket and gave her a small framed photograph. Cally stared at the snapshot of her grandparents, taken on their final wedding anniversary together, until the tears made it impossible to see.
Her mother had wanted nothing more than to be part of vampire society. She had completely immersed herself in their culture from adolescence onward. Although Sheila Monture could never truly “live” as a vampire, her daughter took a weird comfort in knowing she had died like one.
As she wiped the tears from her face with the back of her hand, it occurred to Cally that all her human relatives were dead. The realization was both sobering and frightening. “What am I going to do now?” she wondered aloud.
“Well, you certainly can’t remain here,” Baron Metzger replied. “It’s too dangerous.”
“But—I have nowhere else to go.”
Metzger placed a protective arm around her shoulders. “How would you like to come live with me for a while?” he asked gently.
“What about my clothes? All I have to wear is what’s on my back. Everything else is packed.”
“Let me worry about that,” he said soothingly. “I’ll arrange for your things to be brought over.”
“Are you sure this is okay?” she asked uncertainly. “I don’t want to be any bother….”
“Don’t be silly, my dear! You’re no trouble at all!” Baron Metzger assured her. “It’s not much—just an apartment I keep for my trips to New York. But you should be comfortable enough for the time being. You’ll even have your own room.”
Cally felt like a swimmer who had been caught up by a huge wave and thrown on the beach. For the last two years, ever since her grandmother’s death, she had worked tirelessly to take care of and provide for her mother. Although she was ashamed to admit it, part of her was relieved to be able to simply be a child again and allow herself to be taken care of.
“To the Plaza,” Baron Metzger told his chauffeur as he helped his foster daughter into the car. “And step on it.”
***
Straddling Fifty-eighth and Fifty-ninth streets along Fifth Avenue, the Plaza had been host to the glamorously wealthy for over a century. Although it had begun its life as a traditional hotel, as part of its multi-million-dollar restoration it now offered permanent private residences for those who could afford the price.
Cally stared in mute amazement at the polished marble floors, gleaming chandeliers, and decorated ceilings as they walked across the lobby to the building’s famous gilded elevators. As a child she had eagerly devoured the Eloise books and often daydreamed about living in a fancy hotel just like she did. If not for the tragic circumstances surrounding her relocation, Cally would have been elated to get the chance to walk in the fictional footsteps of her childhood hero.
On their arrival at Metzger’s fourteenth-floor apartment, the front door was opened by an undead servant dressed in formal butler’s livery, complete with white gloves.
“Welcome home, Baron,” the servant said as he relieved his master of his coat.
“Thank you, Edgar,” Metzger replied. “Prepare the guest room for the young lady.”
“As you wish, sir,” Edgar replied.
“It’s not very big,” Metzger said, gesturing to the seven-room apartment with its high ceilings, ornate moldings, and period mantelpieces, “but it’s cozy.”
“It certainly is,” Cally replied, eyeing the signature Versace home decor.
“Please forgive me for a few moments, my dear,” the Baron said. “I need to make some phone calls.”
Cally walked across the parquet floor to the living room window that faced Fifth Avenue. From where she stood, Central Park looked like a giant blanket unfurled at her feet, embroidered with winding strings of lights that were the old-style lampposts that lined its paths and byways. Everything had happened so fast, she had yet to truly take it all in. Things in her life were changing forever, with no time for good-byes. It was almost as if everything tonight had happened to someone else.
As she stared out at the park, she wondered if her father was still planning to send her away to Europe. The thought of going to a strange country without her mother kindled a flicker of anxiety that quickly grew, burning its way through the protective layer of numbness. She had always had family around her. But her grandmother was long gone, and her mother…her mother was…She could not bring herself to finish the thought, at least not yet.
She let out a shuddering breath as she glanced down at the windowsill and saw a drop of water strike its edge. She reached up and touched her face to discover she was crying.
“I have good news,” Metzger said as he reentered the room. “I spoke to your father, and he’s decided it’s no longer necessary for you to leave New York.” He froze as he saw her rub the tears from her cheeks. “Are you still weeping?” he asked, a hint of surprise in his voice.
“I always knew I would outlive my mother,” Cally said, fighting to control the quaver in her voice. “I just never thought it would be like this.”
“Although I am not your father, perhaps I can pass along a little paternal advice,” the Baron said gently as he steered her over to the sofa. “I realize that you are not completely like us and that you were raised with human mores and morals, so please, do not take what I am about to say the wrong way: if you are to live among us, you cannot mourn your mother beyond this night.”
“What?” Cally blinked in disbelief.
“It is not the way of our people to grieve our dead as humans do,” Metzger explained. “We celebrate them with a great party in their honor, and once that is over, we simply go on with our lives as we did before.”
“Are you telling me I have to forget my mother?” Cally asked. Although aghast by what Metzger was saying, she felt compelled to listen.
“The average human lives, what? Seventy-five? Eighty-five y
ears, at best? Our span numbers in the centuries. To spend hundreds of years mourning the loss of a loved one—the pain as fresh a decade from now as it is today—is a torment you never want to endure. Grieving in public is forbidden in our world, for fear it will spread melancholy to those around you.”
“Does that mean I can go back home?” Cally asked hopefully as she wiped the tears from her cheeks.
Baron Metzger shook his head. “As I said earlier, it’s far too dangerous for you to be on your own, especially now that the Van Helsings know where to find you. You’ll live with me. You are supposed to be my daughter, after all.”
“But why bother with the charade?” Cally frowned. “Irina is dead. What difference does it make now?”
“Because your father doesn’t want to alienate his future in-laws,” Metzger explained. “He’s worked hard to arrange a marriage with the de Lavals. Julian is a Purist, just like the delightful Mr. Mauvais you met earlier. If he knew Lilith had a half-human sister, he’d call the whole thing off.”
“The guest room is ready, master,” Edgar said. “I’ve taken the liberty of drawing the young lady a bath.”
“Very good!” Baron Metzger said. “You’ve had a rough night—perhaps you would like some time to yourself?”
“Thank you, Baron,” Cally said wearily. “You’re right, I am tired.”
“I’ll bid you good morning, then.” Metzger smiled, patting her hand. “And remember, my dear: life is too long for sorrow.”
***
The guest room was not only twice the size of her bedroom in Williamsburg, it also had its own bathroom. Like the rest of the apartment, it was furnished in Versace, which, despite her earlier comment to Baron Metzger, came across as more sterile than cozy. As she looked around her new surroundings, Cally found herself missing her funky canopy bed, her old wardrobe, and the patchwork mural of posters that covered the back of her bedroom door.
As she slipped out of her clothes, she glanced at the medicine cabinet over the sink and saw that the mirror had been painted over with flat eggshell matte. It was a jarring reminder that from here on in, she would be living completely in the vampire world. Up until now, even though she had extensive dealings with vampire society, both Old Blood and New, her home life had been human.
Cally carefully folded her evening gown and placed it on the small dressing bench next to the door before stepping into the waiting bath, the surface of which was covered with scattered rose petals. She normally preferred taking showers, but sometimes she needed to unwind with a good long soak.
She picked up the bath sponge and squeezed it onto her shoulders and breasts. As she closed her eyes, her mother’s face flashed before her. Suddenly the numbness that filled her began to crack, like ice in a spring thaw. She gasped aloud as the pain pushed its way into her, filling her heart like floodwaters breaching a dam.
Ever since she was a baby, Cally had enjoyed the supernatural stamina and vitality of her vampire heritage. She had never been ill a day in her life, and what physical pain she was forced to endure had always been brief. She had never truly known suffering, as most humans understand the word. At least not physically, anyway. The emotional kind she knew all too well.
The last time she’d experienced such anguish was when Granny died, two years ago. The suffering she had endured was so overwhelming and lasted for so long, it frightened her like nothing else in her life had before. And now here she was, feeling it yet again, only now it seemed a thousand times worse.
At least with her grandmother’s death there had been time to prepare for the inevitable, and there was some comfort in knowing Granny was no longer in pain. But her mother’s death had been so sudden and cruel and…her fault. Cally wrapped her arms around her knees, rocking back and forth in the rose-strewn bathwater as she surrendered to her grief.
I should have been there. I should have protected her. It was me they were looking for, not her. Mom, the attack, Peter’s father, Lilith’s mother…It’s all my fault.
CHAPTER 5
Cally sees herself walking barefoot across the beach, watching the tide come in. She is wearing a colorful sarong, a hibiscus tucked behind one ear. The light from the full moon makes the gently lapping waves breaking against the shore look black and silver. Towering palm trees sway their heads in the balmy breeze, marking the start of the jungle that covers the rest of the island.
She looks down and spots a conch shell washed up onto the shore. Smiling, she plucks her prize from the foam and puts its pink curving rim to her ear. Instead of hearing the ocean, however, she hears someone calling to her as if from a great distance. Cally frowns and lets the conch drop back onto the sand.
She looks up the beach and sees a male figure standing atop a dune, silhouetted against the night sky. As she watches, he motions for her to join him. Although she cannot make out his features, she somehow knows that he is Peter. She waves to him as she runs across the wet sand, hurrying to catch up.
As Cally draws closer to Peter, she hears someone calling her name again, only this time it is coming from the ocean. She turns to look and is alarmed to see her mother floundering in the surf, fifty feet from shore. She starts toward the water, only to be brought up short when Peter grabs her.
Cally looks at Peter, trying to figure out why he wants to stop her from rescuing her mother, only to realize that the person holding her back isn’t him at all. Standing in his place is a thing made of living shadow, with swirling knots of nothing where a face should be. Although it has no eyes, somehow she knows it can see her.
Cally watches helplessly as the current takes her frantically struggling mother somewhere she can never follow. She tries to wrench herself free of the shadow thing’s grip but is unable to break its hold. She looks down at her wrist and is startled to see rivulets of darkness twining their way up her arm, like vines climbing a trellis.
Cally, where are you? her mother calls out forlornly. Why aren’t you here?
***
Cally woke up gasping, tangled in her bedclothes, her body slick with sweat. Her heart was pounding in her chest as if she’d just run a marathon. She didn’t recognize her surroundings at first and looked around in vain for the familiar touchstones of her old bedroom: the armoire, her sewing machine, and the tailor’s dummy.
As she struggled to banish the fear that had followed her into the waking world, she wasn’t sure if she was still dreaming or not. Her left arm felt ice-cold and fire-hot at the same time. Looking down, she could see that her forearm was covered in shadow, as if she had dipped it up to the elbow in a bucket of tar.
Fighting back the urge to panic, she remembered what her grandmother, Sina, had said about controlling her stormgathering powers: Ride with the power; don’t let the power ride you.
Cally took a deep breath, letting it out slowly as she deliberately lowered her heartbeat. All she needed to do was calm down. When she reopened her eyes, she was relieved to see that the darkness had drained away, returning to wherever it had come from.
She lifted her hand, wiggling her fingers as she studied them for any trace of lingering shadow.
In the names of the Founders, what am I turning into?
***
Lilith frowned at the digital clock next to her bed. Where in sweet hell was Esmeralda? Lilith had been waiting almost twenty minutes for her dresser, which was virtually unheard of. Esmeralda knew she couldn’t start her evening without having her makeup and hair done.
The little gypsy tart better have a good excuse for keeping her waiting. Strike that: there was no such thing as an excuse when it came to the undead. It’s not like they had busy social calendars to keep track of or family emergencies.
Things would be so much easier if she could simply apply her own makeup and style her own hair. But since mirrors were forbidden in vampire homes, she had no choice but to rely on her dresser to make her look presentable. Assuming she ever showed up.
Lilith picked up the telephone on her bedside table and pu
nched the in-house line. A second later the Todds’ head butler answered.
“Yes, Miss Lilith?”
“Curtis, I’ve been waiting forever for Esmeralda to dress me! Where is she?”
“I’m sorry, Miss Lilith,” Curtis replied in his cultured British voice. “Esmeralda is no longer with us.”
Lilith frowned. “Huh? Where did she go?”
“Esmeralda was one of Madame Irina’s undead,” the butler explained. “She no longer exists, I’m afraid.”
Lilith scowled. “Then get me another dresser—immediately!”
“One has already been withdrawn from cold storage, Miss Lilith. She should be on the way up as we speak.”
Just then there was a knock at her door. Lilith opened the bedroom door and found herself looking at a woman wearing a low-waisted slip dress and a cloche hat, carrying the telltale makeup valise of a dresser.
“Hello. My name is Josette.” The new servant squinted at Lilith, a confused look on her face. “Is that you, Madame Irina?”
“No!” Lilith said sharply. “Madame Irina is no more. I’m her daughter.”
“Daughter?” Josette’s plucked eyebrows climbed in surprise. “Then the master finally succeeded in producing an heir?”
“Well, duh,” Lilith said, rolling her eyes as she headed back into the bathroom. “Let’s get on with it—I’ve got places to be, and I’ve been kept waiting long enough as it is.”
“As you wish, mistress.” Josette bowed her head.
Lilith turned and stared at her dresser with a startled look on her face. “What did you just call me?”
“I called you ‘mistress,’ that is all,” Josette replied. “You said Madame Irina is dead. That makes you the mistress of the Todd family, does it not?”
“Yeah, I guess it does,” Lilith said thoughtfully. “It’s just that I never really thought of it in those terms before now.”
After Dark Page 4
