After Dark

by Nancy A. Collins

  As Lilith sat down in her makeup chair, Josette took out a black silk barber’s drape and gave it a brisk snap before fixing it around her mistress’s neck.

  “So—what movie star do you want to look like? Theda Bara? Gloria Swanson? Ooh! I know! How about Lillian Gish?”

  ***

  Lilith found her father seated at the head of the dining room table with his BlackBerry pressed to his ear and a disconcerted look on his face.

  “This is very short notice! You know what my situation is. Are you certain something like this is really necessary? Yes, yes, I realize the potential danger—it’s just that I don’t see how you can compare this situation to what happened before.” Victor closed his eyes and heaved a sigh of resignation. “Very well. I’ll be there as soon as I can.”

  “Who was that?” Lilith asked as she poured herself a goblet of AB neg from the plasma warmer mounted atop the buffet.

  “Just someone at HemoGlobe,” Victor replied, quickly sliding the BlackBerry into the breast pocket of his jacket. “We have to restructure in order to cover the unexpected losses to the workforce. Your mother controlled many of them.”

  “You’re not going to go out of business because of this, are you?” Lilith asked anxiously.

  “Don’t be silly,” Victor replied. “As I told you last night, I still have plenty of undead in cold storage, spread throughout this country and Europe, to make up the difference. But I won’t lie to you—the transition phase is bound to be a bit bumpy. The older undead have to get up to speed on the current technology and culture.”

  “I know what you mean,” Lilith said as she finished the last of her blood. “It took me nearly a half hour to talk the dresser Curtis picked to replace Esmeralda from tricking me out like some old movie star. I gave her a stack of fashion magazines to study before tomorrow night.” Having finished her waking meal, she turned to address the butler. “Curtis, ring up Bruno and have him bring my car around.”

  “Yes, mistress,” Curtis replied automatically, bowing at the waist.

  “Not so fast,” Victor said, staying Curtis with a motion of his hand. He fixed his daughter with a baffled frown. “Where do you think you’re going?”

  “To the club,” Lilith replied as she casually reached for her coat.

  “You’re not doing anything of the sort!” Victor barked. “Just because your mother was slain last night doesn’t mean I’ve changed my mind! Until you pass your Basic Alchemy class, the only places you’re allowed to go outside of school are the Central Scrivenery and your tutor’s laboratory.”

  “You’re not being fair!” Lilith protested, angrily hurling her Nanette Lepore coat onto the floor.

  “I’m not in the mood tonight, Lilith!” Victor warned her. “It’s bad enough I have to spread myself thin trying to keep HemoGlobe afloat while arranging for your mother’s totentanz. The last thing I need from you right now is attitude!”

  Lilith glowered at her father, her hands balled into fists. Although she and Irina had never been close, at that moment she wished her mother were still alive so she could run and tell her everything about Victor and his little half-human bastard just to spite him.

  But Irina was dead and Lilith’s trump card was now worthless. It seemed she couldn’t win for losing—but that didn’t stop a girl from having plans.

  ***

  From the outside, Xander’s laboratory looked like any of the other aging office buildings that lined the streets of the Flatiron District.

  “I’ll call you when I’m ready to go home, Bruno,” Lilith said as she stepped out onto the curb.

  The lobby of the building was outfitted in marble and brass furnishings dating back to World War I. Hanging next to the elevator, locked inside a case of glass, was an alphabetical listing of the various businesses in the building. XOXperiments was on the top floor.

  Lilith stepped inside the aged elevator car and punched the button for the sixth floor. When the doors opened, Xander Orlock was there to greet her.

  “Wow, this is really some place you’ve got here, Exo,” she said. Several workbenches were placed throughout the large, open room, each set up with a different collection of alchemic instruments. An apothecary’s crocodile, such as those used in ancient Egyptian rituals, was suspended by wires from the pressed tin ceiling.

  “My dad gave me this place after I accidentally blew a hole in my bedroom wall,” Xander said sheepishly. “It used to be a photography studio, so the neighbors are used to weird chemical smells. I also have private access to the roof, so I can come and go whenever I like.”

  Lilith raised an eyebrow in surprise. “You fly a lot?”

  Xander nodded. “I’m the sub-captain of my Aerial Combat team.”

  “I should have known from the way you tackled that gargoyle!” she said, nodding appreciatively. “Thank you for saving me last night, by the way.”

  “I didn’t really do that much—it was mostly Kayo.”

  “Kayo?”

  “That’s my nickname for my big brother, Klaus. He’s the one who attacked the gargoyle. I just happened to be there to catch you.”

  “Yeah, but you went after that thing, too. That was pretty brave of you.”

  “Well, I couldn’t let my brother tackle it by himself, could I?” A look of embarrassment abruptly crossed Xander’s face, as if he’d suddenly remembered something important. “Oh, yeah—I heard about your mom. Sorry.”

  “Yeah, well. Things happen,” Lilith said with a shrug as she walked over to one of the workbenches. “Like your cousin cheating on me.”

  “I don’t understand why Jules does things like that,” Xander said in exasperation. “You are so much prettier than Carmen!”

  “You really think so?” Lilith placed her hands over her face, tracing the geometry of her features with her fingertips. “Everyone tells me I’m beautiful, but how can I know that for sure? I mean, people say things they don’t mean all the time.”

  “Well, I meant every word,” Xander assured her.

  At first Lilith thought he was being sarcastic, but when she looked into his clear blue eyes, she could tell he was sincere. “Thanks, Exo,” she said, blushing slightly. “That’s good to hear.” She paused for a second, thoughtfully tapping her chin. “Do you remember me asking you about whether or not it might be possible to create a means of allowing our kind to cast a reflection?”

  “Of course.” He nodded. “It’s an intriguing proposition.”

  “I’m glad you said that,” she said with a smile. “Tell me, Exo—what do you know about cosmetics?”

  ***

  Cally wandered through Baron Metzger’s apartment, taking in the twenty-four-carat-gold bathroom faucets, the marble backsplashes in the kitchen, and the crystal chandeliers. She had been so overwhelmed when she first arrived that she had not really had a chance to fully appreciate the perks that came with living in the Plaza. Too bad Sheila wasn’t there to see it.

  Cally closed her eyes and shook her head as the thought crossed her mind. The hurt was too new, too raw for her to tolerate for more than a few seconds. To dwell on it would only lead to tears—and that was the last thing she needed if she was going to survive in her new world.

  As she wandered down the hallways back toward her bedroom, Cally noticed that the door to Baron Metzger’s office was standing ajar. Curious, she poked her head inside—just to check it out, she told herself.

  The office resembled the den of a Victorian gentlemen’s club, with plenty of old leather and heavy wood furniture. An antique desk sat facing the door, its roll top raised to reveal a flat-screen computer monitor. The walls of the room were lined with barrister bookcases filled with canisters containing scrolls and manuscripts in chthonic script, the written language of the vampire race.

  Hanging over the desk was an oil portrait of a man who bore a strong family resemblance to Baron Metzger, dressed in the style of the early seventeenth century, the lace cravat done to perfection. It was the kind of painting you�
��d expect to find hanging in a museum, not in someone’s house.

  Cally walked over to the desk and picked up a stack of paper next to the computer. As she fanned through it, she realized the sheets were photocopies of sketches for the new Maison d’Ombres ready-to-wear collection.

  Although the basic designs were solid, they looked far too matronly for Cally’s taste. She plucked a piece of parchment from one of the pigeonholes lining the upper portion of the desk and, using a scrivening talon lying on the desk, began to sketch out her own version of the same outfits.

  “What are you doing in my office?”

  Cally was so startled by the sound of Baron Metzger’s voice that she jumped. Lost in what she was doing, she’d forgotten where she was. She turned to find her host looming over her, a perturbed look on his face.

  “Oh! I’m sorry, Baron! I was just looking around and I saw these sketches…. I was bored, and I started doodling….”

  “May I see them?” Metzger asked, holding out his hand.

  Cally meekly handed the parchment over. “I’m really sorry if I overstepped my bounds. I realize I’m a guest in your house….”

  The Baron’s eyebrows rose so high they disappeared into his hairline. “Don’t be sorry, my dear,” he said as he studied Cally’s sketches. “The changes you’ve made to these designs really are quite clever.”

  “I beg your pardon, Baron,” the butler said as he stepped into the room.

  “Yes, Edgar?” Metzger said. “What is it?”

  “There is a Mr. Mauvais here to see you. He says he is on Synod business.”

  “I’ll be there directly, Edgar.” Metzger set aside the sketches and motioned for Cally to follow him.

  Anton Mauvais stood in the living room, scowling up at the Picasso hanging over the mantelpiece. Around his neck hung the seal of a Synod: an amulet resembling a clock face.

  “Good evening, Anton,” Metzger said as he entered the room. “To what do I owe the pleasure of this visit?”

  “There is a board of inquiry being held this evening to address the question of your daughter,” Mauvais said sourly. “You are both to come with me to the Naos.”

  CHAPTER 6

  Cally anxiously looked around as she and Baron Metzger were led across the Central Park West office building’s polished marble lobby. The elevator took them to the lowest level, buried deep beneath the streets of the city. On exiting, they were met by a pair of well-muscled undead with submachine guns slung over their shoulders. The red epaulets on their leather trench coats marked them as Crimson Guards, the private army of the Lord Chamberlain.

  Cally and the Baron were led down a long, low brick-lined tunnel to an iron door inscribed with a larger version of the amulet Mauvais wore around his neck. Mounted in its center was the chthonic ideogram for the word blood cast in gold. The door opened with a squealing sound. Standing on the threshold was an older man with a long beard and robust build, dressed in the scarlet robes of an archpriest.

  “Greetings, Father Lazarus,” Mauvais said. “Have the others arrived?”

  “They are all here,” the archpriest replied, stepping away to allow the newcomers entrance.

  They walked into a huge, circular room with a forty-foot vaulted ceiling. This was the Naos, the shrine dedicated to the thirteen Founders of the vampire race. Twelve alcoves were set into the walls. In each one stood a twenty-foot-tall idol fashioned from ebony. In the very center of the chamber, positioned like the angle on a sundial, stood the idol dedicated to the thirteenth and most powerful of the Founders: Urlok the Terrible, whose winged arms were held open as if in welcome. Or attack.

  Count Orlock and Victor Todd, along with a man Cally did not recognize, were seated at a large stone table positioned in front of Urlok. At either end of the table were more Crimson Guards, who stared at her like automatons.

  “Come forward, Metzger—it is time for you to answer for your sins against the Blood,” the third man said grimly.

  “Whether Baron Metzger has sinned against the Blood has yet to be determined, Count de Laval,” Count Orlock interjected. “That is what this board of inquiry is to decide.”

  “Count de Laval? Are you Jules’s father?” Cally asked. “He was my escort at the Grand Ball….”

  “Don’t remind me,” he sniffed.

  “Frankly, I don’t understand why you’re insisting on this inquiry, Julian,” Victor said testily. “You should be praising this girl as a hero, not condemning her as a threat! She not only saved my life, she single-handedly destroyed the greatest enemy of her people!”

  “Her people’? Ha!” Count de Laval sneered. “She’s not a vampire, Victor!”

  “Yet neither is she human,” Count Orlock pointed out. “However, these arguments do not address the central issue before this board. Baron Metzger, why did you represent your hybrid daughter as being a true-blood at the Rauhnacht Grand Ball?”

  “I admit my deceit, but my decision was made out of pride, not malice,” Metzger replied. “Throughout her life, I have been forced to deny Cally as my child for fear of how my wife might react. Once I became a widower, I was finally free to claim my daughter. She is a magnificent girl—incredibly smart and talented. Did you know she started developing stormgathering talents before the age of twelve?”

  Count Orlock lifted an eyebrow, apparently impressed. “Really? That young?”

  “I don’t care if she can juggle chain saws while reciting Proust!” Count de Laval snarled. “You have made a deliberate mockery of one of our most cherished traditions!”

  Baron Metzger squared his shoulders, refusing to be intimidated. “I realize that Purists such as yourself see no value in human blood beyond slaking your thirst, but all vampires have some human DNA in them, no matter how little: even you, Count de Laval!

  “Whether we like it or not, humans aren’t the frightened cavemen our ancestors preyed on anymore. The only hope for the vampire race’s continued existence is more interbreeding with humans, not less! We’re being strangled in an ever-tightening noose of technology—cameras are everywhere! Pretty soon we’ll be pushed back to the caves. The Institute will be the least of our worries then.”

  Count de Laval leaped to his feet, striking the tabletop hard with his fist. “Heresy!”

  “Were the Founders heretics, then?” Victor replied. “Baron Metzger is right: we wouldn’t exist if vampires hadn’t bred with humans in the past. There is nothing in the scrolls forbidding the Grand Ball to those with human blood in their veins. It merely states that any female child being presented must have at least one parent of the Old Blood. Cally meets that requirement.”

  “I should have known you would take up for Metzger!” Count de Laval spat in disgust. “You’re his liege lord!”

  “Victor is correct,” Count Orlock said. “There is nothing that specifically prohibits hybrids from participating in the Grand Ball. Why, I recall back in 1703 when a kinsman of my first wife introduced his half-human daughter, Grozda, at the Grand Ball in Kiev—”

  “Be that as it may,” Count de Laval growled, cutting off Count Orlock in mid-anecdote, “we all know what happened the last time the Shadow Hand was made manifest! I say it’s better to get rid of her now than run the risk of her going rogue!”

  Victor Todd stood to make his point. “Despite what you believe, Count de Laval, Cally is not Pieter Van Helsing. She has not suffered the same cruelty Pieter did at the hands of his father’s people. She doesn’t hate us—at least not yet. With her we have an opportunity that we squandered with Pieter—a second chance to take the Shadow Hand’s power and make it work for us instead of against us. Then we would never have to live in fear of human attack ever again!”

  “I’ll admit some of what you say intrigues me, Victor,” Count de Laval said grudgingly. “But I still say the risk is too great to allow the child to live. What is your opinion, Boris?”

  “My family has learned the folly of valuing the purity of our bloodright above all things,” Count Or
lock said solemnly. “Baron Metzger is right: there is no returning to the old days. To continue to fold inward does nothing but diminish us.” He rose from his chair and lifted his eyes to the vaulted ceiling. “Come forward, Klaus. It’s all right, son—you can show yourself now.”

  Cally followed the Count’s gaze and saw what looked like a storybook demon roosting on the shoulder of one of the idols, staring down at her with black eyes the size of saucers. She instinctively gasped as the creature unfurled the pinioned, batlike wings on its back and swooped down from its perch.

  The eldest son of Count Orlock was close to seven feet tall and covered in smooth, close-cropped gray fur, with knees that hinged backward. Unlike the winged form taken by normal vampires, Klaus had a pair of wings growing out of his back, set above a pair of perfectly normal, fully functional human arms.

  “By the Darkest Powers! You brought that monstrosity here?” Count de Laval hissed indignantly.

  “You can’t have it both ways, Julian,” Count Orlock told his brother-in-law. “You can’t condemn the ‘dilution’ of the vampire race while at the same time reviling the result of inbreeding.” He held out his hand to Klaus, who scurried to his father’s side. Count Orlock smiled fondly as he scratched his eldest child behind the ears. “When he was born, I was told I should destroy him, just as he destroyed my beloved wife. They called him a freak, a throwback—everything but what he is: my son.

  “I know what it is like to be proud of a child others revile, to desire the best for him, even when you know it is impossible,” Count Orlock said, smiling at Baron Metzger. “Because of that, I cannot find it in my heart to condemn you for what you have done. In fact, if your daughter had not been at the Grand Ball the other night, I daresay the outcome would have been far worse than it was. I, too, believe that we have been given a unique opportunity here, one that we dare not squander out of fear. As ranking Synodist for the City of New York, I propose that Cally Monture be released to the custody of her father, Baron Karl Metzger, and that she be subject to regular monitoring and inspection by Synod officials to determine whether or not she is a genuine threat to the vampire race.”