Dance in the Dark

by Megan Derr

  So, bring in magic. A mother who placed a spell or spells in … a new pair of slippers? A favored pair? And suddenly her daughter was far from plain, far from ordinary. Attract the prince, ensnare him, and the deed is done. A glamour, a love spell, tied together just so to make a happily ever after. Such things had been done since the beginning of time.

  "Master Desrosiers," said a cool voice.

  Johnnie nodded at the vampire, acknowledging and then dismissing him. He did the same as several others greeted him. He was not here to socialize, and they were only acknowledging him because they did not dare offend his father. Turning away from the crowd, he glanced at the bar for a potential place to sit.

  Oddly, the bar was occupied by only the bartender and four other guests. Two of the guests wore masks, and two did not. One of the masked was a sharp looking figure in green, and Johnnie sensed he should know the costume, but he did not. The other masked figure was some sort of yellow bird. Of the two unmasked, one was a beautiful woman dressed mostly in diamonds. The other was a plain looking man dressed in simple black, with nothing to cut or soften the severity of it.

  Johnnie passed his eyes over each—the two masked figures avoided his gaze, the woman met it and immediately dropped her gaze, and the plain looking man met it, smiling politely before returning to his drink.

  No Cinderella candidates here, then. They lacked … something, though as usual he could not put a finger upon what was off. He simply knew they were not right. Well, beauty obviously. The point of Cinderella was that 'she' would be the most beautiful at the ball. The woman in diamonds was stunning, but there were others more stunning. The plain man, obviously not. The two masked figures were not remarkable enough of costume to fit.

  Approaching the bar, he sat between the two unmasked figures, a barstool of space on either side. "Vodka rocks," he told the bartender. The bartender nodded and turned to pour the requested drink, and Johnnie turned slightly so that he could look out over the crowd again, carefully maintaining an air of boredom. He was looking now solely for Adelardi—if he could find the prince, Cinderella would present eventually. It was only just past nine; Cinderella would not make herself known to the prince before ten.

  Where was Adelardi? He should be around and highly visible, even in costume. This was his fete, so where was he? It occurred to him then, he had never asked Rostislav the purpose of this party. Odd Rostislav had neglected to mention it, but perhaps he had simply forgotten.

  Not his annual charity ball, it was the wrong time of year. Not a holiday, though that would have fit a costume ball. Birthday? The ball did not seem to fit that, though. It was possible, but he did not think that was it. He turned to the diamond-encrusted woman. "I beg your pardon, do you know the reason for this fete? I am afraid a friend brought me, but he did not tell me the purpose."

  The woman shrugged, and turned slightly away from him. Johnnie lifted a brow at that, but said nothing.

  Before he could turn and ask the man on his other side, the very one he sought suddenly appeared. "Master Desrosiers," Jesse said with a smirk. "I am honored you deigned to attend my little fete. You look quite stunning, as always. I shouldn't doubt more than a few here would love whatever taste you were willing to give."

  Johnnie ignored him. He did not deign to respond to such unclever taunts.

  Jesse laughed softly. "Johnnie, Johnnie, as cold and beautiful as any vampire, but it took you only twenty-six years. Dance with me."

  Finishing his drink, Johnnie placed his hand in Jesse's and followed him to the crowded dance floor. Immediately people moved to give them plenty of room, and Johnnie felt the prickle of eyes upon him, the heat of jealousy and the cold of contempt.

  More than a few vampires disapproved of the way a Dracula had not only taken in a human, but worse, adopted him. Humans were prey, not kin. The only thing worse would be if he and some vampire dared to take up together.

  Thinking that of course led to thoughts of his brother, but Johnnie stubbornly ignored them. He focused, instead, on Jesse Adelardi. Not a Dracula, but wealthy and powerful enough in his own right that he was counted high amongst the elite. There were always rumors floating around about he was set to marry this daughter or that, and be made an Alucard, eventually to take up Dracula.

  So far, none of those rumors had come to pass, and of course the lack of marriage always created further rumors. Jesse was, of course, heartbreakingly beautiful. His was a handsome beauty, rather than Elam's more androgynous features. His hair and eyes were a deep, soft gold, set in flawless, sun-kissed skin. It was little wonder that he could get Rostislav to do whatever he asked. Johnnie had tried to tell Rostislav a thousand times the futility of being a human and loving a vampire, but they had always had stubbornness in common.

  "I suspected you were the help that Rostislav mentioned," Jesse said, smoothly leading the dancing, hand warm where it curled around Johnnie's hip. How many people, over the hundreds of years of Jesse's life, had fallen victim to his warmth and charm and beauty? "I do thank you for coming," Jesse continued.

  Johnnie ignored the thanks, and simply asked, "He neglected to mention the purpose of your masque."

  "Oh?" Jesse asked. "It's the one hundredth anniversary of my hotel. I've never managed to stay so long in one place; it's quite exciting for me. The day it opened, I threw a masque." He pulled Johnnie closer, turning them neatly, moving gracefully across the dance floor. Beautiful, so close to perfection, but Johnnie remained unmoved. He possessed no special ability to resist vampires, he simply had grown up with them, amongst them, and the lure of that wicked beauty had lost its shine along the way. "Naturally, another masque was the only suitable option."

  "Of course," Johnnie said, turning his head, following a pair of handsome blue high-heeled slippers. No. He turned back to Jesse. "You are careless."

  "It was not my spell cage which failed," Jesse replied.

  "Mm," Johnnie murmured, "but you did possess a pair of Cinderella shoes. You are no necromancer, but neither are you a fool." He pulled away as the dance ended, and sketched a half-bow that was only just barely polite.

  Jesse's mouth quirked in amusement, but he said only, "Thank you for the dance, Master Desrosiers."

  "My lord," Johnnie murmured in reply, then left him, moving through the ballroom, surreptitiously examining shoes. After half an hour, he decided to try something else. He searched around for Rostislav—and paused, frowning, as he finally saw Rostislav tucked into a discreet, shadowy corner with Jesse. What they were doing, he could not determine.

  But he could guess.

  He turned away in anger and contempt—and jealousy. Vampires never took humans as lovers; it was beneath them to have truly amorous relations with their food. If Jesse was doing anything, he was toying with Rostislav, and Rostislav knew that.

  But Rostislav had always loved Jesse, the same way that Johnnie had always loved Elam. Stupid, to fall for vampires, but they had fallen all the same.

  Rostislav was apparently wearing the mask of a fool for the ball, Johnnie thought as he glanced toward that dark corner again. He watched them a moment, quoting softly to himself, "So true a fool is love, that in your will/Though you do anything, he thinks no ill." Turning away again, he climbed the stairs he had earlier descended.

  Away from the crowds, standing in a dimly lit hallway, he weighed his options. He should have had Jesse or Rostislav give him access to the spell cage in which they had tried to bind the shoes. Going back down into the crush below was not worth it, however. Not when he had other means to try first.

  Moving to the lobby, he pressed the button on Jesse's private elevator. Though he possessed only ordinary senses and laid no claim to special abilities, one could not live his entire life amongst abnormals without some effect. He could almost always feel magic, unless it was very slight or too subtly cast. He could also smell it, when it as strong enough or, like downstairs, there was simply a great deal of it.

  He felt it now, like a prickle across
his skin, as he stepped into the elevator. Glancing at the control panel, he immediately saw where a special key was required to access the very top floors. Jesse's rooms, he knew, occupied the top three floors of the hotel.

  The thing about the more powerful abnormals, Johnnie had learned over the years, was that they stopped worrying about normals. Instinct drove most normals to avoid abnormals like Jesse Adelardi. Over time, Jesse and his ilk, Johnnie's family included, become accustomed to being avoided. They largely ceased to notice normals.

  As a result, they seldom bothered to incorporate wards against normals in their many and varied defensive spells. All the wards and spells blocked all levels of magic and mischief—except good, old-fashioned normal mischief.

  Reaching into an inner pocket of his jacket, he extracted a suitable lock-pick and made quick work of the penthouse access. Tucking the lock-pick away again, he pushed the button and leaned against the back wall as he rode to the topmost floors with a slight sneer on his face.

  The doors opened without a sound a moment later, and he stepped out into the first of the three floors. This floor was the living room, dining room, kitchen, and a beautiful patio complete with garden and fish pond. He knew from two previous visits that the second floor was equal parts library and museum; all the long-lived abnormals had a penchant for books, antiques, pieces of the long years behind them. The top floor was Jesse's exclusive domain. It obviously contained his bedroom, but beyond that, Johnnie did not know. No one else went there, ever.

  Crossing the room, he slipped into the study and immediately found what he sought. In one corner of the room was a large, round oak table, stained dark. The table top was not wood, however, but set with black chalkboard. On one end of it, pieces of chalk were neatly laid out. A sorcerer's table.

  At present, the board was currently covered with an extremely elaborate spell cage. Not as complicated as sorcery, but damned close. But then, Rostislav was an excellent witch. Johnnie felt the usual twinges of bitterness and jealousy. Being the adopted son of a Dracula only made him more acutely aware of all the special abilities he did not possess. He was quite literally nothing, minus that his last name was Desrosiers.

  The closest he would ever come was to read and watch and learn. He would never be able to make a spell circle that would work, but he could read them as well as any sorcerer. A lifetime of relentless study was the only reason he was able to hold his head up in a room full of people who would be his superiors if not for his surname.

  On the table before him was a spell cage: a double circle of intricate, high-level runes woven together to trap whatever object was placed inside the empty circle within the inner band of runes. Rostislav had been extremely thorough; breaking it should have been extremely difficult for anyone other than Rostislav.

  Johnnie studied the circle more closely, examining every meticulously chalked rune, every stroke and curve. It was perfect, exquisite work, except … he bent over the table as far as he dared, hands carefully braced on either side of the circle, looking more closely.

  There.

  A break in the inner circle, no wider than the edge of a razor. That would have been enough to ruin the spell cage and render it ineffective. But … once a circle was set, or activated, breaking it was not as simply as smearing the chalk—protections against such things were automatically put into all spell circles. In order to sabotage it, the break must have been done before the circle was activated. Even Rostislav might not have noticed such a minute gap. Johnnie probably would not have, had he not been looking for a flaw.

  Rostislav should have been looking for flaws as well. Hmm. Knowing Rostislav, and knowing Jesse, no one else would have been anywhere near this room when the shoes were brought out and the work done. Rostislav would have done all the work, obviously, but Jesse would have insisted on observing.

  Once they realized something had gone wrong, Rostislav would have gone over the cage with a fine-toothed comb. He should not have missed the flaw; he was a better witch than that. Johnnie was not being told something. "Man is practiced in disguise; He cheats the most discerning eye," he quoted softly, and turned away from the useless spell cage, picturing Rostislav in his elegant suit and the perfectly matched shoes.

  He remembered Rostislav and Jesse tucked into that dimly lit corner while people danced and laughed around them, oblivious.

  What was the game? Why bring him into it, and yet not into it? Why would Rostislav lie to him? That upset him the most. Why would his friend lie to him?

  Frowning in thought, he left the study and strode to the windows in the living room. Beyond the lights of the casino and hotel was a great deal of nothing. Here and there where the moonlight slipped through the clouds, he could see the never-ending motion of the sea. Otherwise, it was only black. The casino was in a carefully selected middle of nowhere; even the locals who worked in the casino were either abnormals who lived there, or normals who lived at least half an hour away.

  The Last Star drew hundreds of thousands, and the taxes Jesse paid to the Dracula were no small part of the reason that the Desrosiers territory was one of the wealthiest.

  Leaving the window, he strode back to the elevator—and halted halfway, the glitter of gemstones just catching his eye. He knelt and reached under the couch, picking up a ruby bracelet he knew well; he had given it to Rostislav two years ago as a birthday present. It was a long standing joke between them that he always gave Rostislav such nonsensical, ostentatious gifts.

  Kneeling in front of the sofa, he could now smell traces of Rostislav's citrusy cologne … as well as traces of exactly what he had been doing on Jesse's sofa. Johnnie sneered as he stood. So the vampire was definitely around, figuratively and literally, with Rostiya.

  Why? A vampire caught in such dalliances with a human would turn himself into a laughingstock. Even a vampire as powerful as Jesse stood to suffer, and suffer greatly, for committing such a taboo. What did Rostiya stand to gain from such a hopeless arrangement, whatever the precise nature of the arrangement may be?

  Nothing. Nothing but pain.

  Hitting the button for the elevator, Johnnie stepped inside and hit the down button, brooding as he returned to the lower levels. When the doors opened, he left the elevator slowly, still lost in thought. He stopped halfway, deciding that he did not want to confront Rostislav until he knew for certain what was afoot.

  Turning around, he returned to the elevator and rode it up to the select floors housing the suites. Though he had made no plans to come here, and would not have come except it was Rostislav who had asked, his father and brother were frequent visitors and so Jesse always kept their suite reserved and ready.

  It opened immediately to his keycard, the lights flicking on as they sensed movement. Removing his jacket and tie, he strode to the bar tucked into the corner of the room and poured vodka over ice in a crystal rocks glass.

  He had just taken a sip when all the lights went out, leaving him in absolute dark. His skin prickled, and on the air was the sudden scent of myrrh and musk roses. Someone was in the room. That should be impossible. The room was so heavily warded a demon would sweat trying to break through. None but the Desrosiers and Jesse could walk in here without permission.

  Johnnie reached out slowly, carefully, and set his drink back down upon the bar. He could see nothing; it was the most absolute dark he had ever experienced. Even the windows gave no light, though he knew very well that lights from the casino and the parking lot should have been filtering through the curtains. "Who are you?"

  No answer immediately came, but Johnnie did not lower himself to repeat the question. There were eyes upon him; he could feel them like a touch. He could always feel eyes upon him. "So you are the infamous human child of the Dracula Desrosiers?"

  Johnnie said nothing.

  Fingers slid down his arm, warm through the fine linen of his shirt, curling briefly before dropping away, and Johnnie only just barely kept himself from showing any reaction. The man was behind him, an
d had not once made a single sound until he spoke.

  Definitely a man, to judge by the hot-toddy voice, the shape and feel of those fingers. They touched him again, those fingers, and Johnnie spun sharply around, the back of his hand swinging up and cracking hard—

  But only against the hand that caught his. The hand that did not let go, but only lightly squeezed his fingers, then held fast. "Unhand me," Johnnie said, voice cold. "You have no business touching me, or being here at all, and I will not tolerate it."

  "In all the places I've been," the man said, "never have I encountered one as breathtaking as you."

  Johnnie froze, momentarily startled by the words.

  "Beautiful, elegant, graceful, but also cold, haughty, and proud. You could be a vampire but for the lack of fangs."