Forget about your sin, give the audience a grin. Always look on the bright side of life...or death.
The song played out in my head as we drove and my fear lifted a little. I’d always been the type to let shit roll off, never really letting anything sway me either way, just kept pushing on. I thanked years of therapy for that one. But it felt like recently, I’d allowed all the macabre that surrounded my life to seep in and change my way of thinking, of reacting toward situations. I guess brutally killing two people had a negative effect on someone. It was natural after all. But my ‘whistle through it’ and ‘hey, fuck you, guys’, attitude seemed to be the most affected. Why else would I be hallucinating ethereal injuries if my thick candy coating was up and running? Nothing should be penetrating it and causing quite that reaction.
I do have a history of being given hallucinogens in the presence of these bloodsucking freaks. Maybe it really isn’t me after all.
“Here we are.” The Irish accent of the asshole driver brought me from my thoughts to the present.
Our car pulled through a set of wrought iron gates that seemed to open on their own. A southern spectral perhaps? We were in the mecca of haunted shit, but I doubted it. Motorized gates were much more likely in this scenario. A long sweeping drive slung us from the street to the valet directly in front of the few steps leading to the entrance. All outward appearances told me this was probably once a house. Like the one we were spending the weekend in, only bigger and marginally less creepy. My door opened and a solemn man in a fancy hat, stood somber-faced, holding it open for me. My heeled-boot held strong as I slid out of the killer car as smoothly as I could. Cyrus took the place of the man in the hat and again held his arm out for me. Such a gentleman. It seemed to be a new development during our weekend getaway. He never really struck me as the old fashioned type before, but then again, I really didn’t know him that well. From my experience, people tended to surprise you and threw a curveball when you were least expecting it.
The two of us waited for his Primus to retrieve his lady from the passenger seat and lead us inside. I had discovered quickly that nothing was done without the head guy doing it first. In our case, that was Malcolm. I really hadn’t had the chance to get to know any of the other Primus…es? Primusi? Oh, fuck it. I didn’t know any of the other head honchos so I didn’t have anything to compare it to within the bizarre blood-drinking culture, but in my opinion, he took his seat of power a little too literally.
Two tough guys stood on either side of the double doors; they looked armed and were likely off-duty cops. Or rotten ex-cops looking for work. Trust me. This was how they paid the bills, moonlighting. Seemed a bit overkill on the security, but judging by my need to be at least moderately protected, I was not about to pitch a fit. I was more than happy to leave those gun-wielding commandos to their duties as long as that meant they were keeping out vicious little voodoo mamas with the rest of the riffraff.
Malcolm stopped at the entrance and waited for the doors to open. The two bouncers stood at their posts as if they were the royal guard. I was actually half expecting their duties to extend to opening doors, but I was dead wrong. Instead of instantly being allowed in, our foursome stood on the large white porch in succession, waiting like losers. Finally, the doors opened from the inside out and two obvious staff members stood at each. They wore what one could assume to be traditional Victorian garb. Black on white, spats, coat tails, the works. No hats. Just discretely combed hair pulled back into ponytails at the nape of their neck. At first, I thought it odd that two men would have hair long enough to put in a ponytail, but then I realized one was a woman. Dressed as a man, she nearly mirrored the man on the other door. Maybe they were siblings, I didn’t know. In any other circle, I’d ask. I learned my lesson with this group; never ask more than you were willing to pay for in a pound of flesh. Or a bucket of blood. Hey, who knew a group of basement-dwelling pale faces could ever be so damn creepy if given the proper tools to survive in society. Thank you, modern media.
Granted they were not above law. Let’s face it, they weren’t celebrities or anything. These types of people might still be stuck playing role-playing games in their parents’ basements had there not been a serious shift in social acceptance thanks to pop culture. Now, they afforded grand masques and public social events where youngsters flocked in droves and spent their parents’ hard-earned money for a moment in the life of a bloodsucking fiend from beyond the grave. Or mommy’s basement.
As had occurred once before at the summit in the teahouse, a hostess greeted us at the door and took our names. She escorted our party to yet another set of doors where another hostess met us and detained us in a holding pattern until she was able to open the door with zeal and introduce us all properly.
“Presenting, Master Malcolm McTavish.” Say that five times fast. “Primus, House of Cailleadh and escort, Mistress Tatum Price.”
The two pranced into the beautifully decorated ballroom making eye contact with as many guests as they could on their way.
“Presenting, Sir Cyrus Atossa, Secondus, House of Cailleadh and escort, Mistress Dylan Hart.”
It was our turn to make our grand entrance. Firmly attached to his arm, Cyrus and I stepped into the oversized ballroom with what felt like a hundred eyes on us. Some looked at me with a disappointed glare. Others smiled and seemed to approve of the two of us together. I spotted Dominika seated with Marienne at a table near the back. Neither acknowledged our eye contact. Most of the guests, mostly the girls, just stared at sexy Cyrus in his fancy costume. I was fine with that. I knew, unlike our first meeting and the others that followed, I was likely going to spend the rest of my weekend with him. I was also becoming strangely aware of the feeling I was being pranced around like a steer at auction. I was stuck in my own thoughts, as I usually was, while Cyrus led me around the innermost section of the shiny wood dance floor.
I noticed the looks from the guests when we first entered, but there was no reason now for them to be watching. A thought flew through my slow brain. It was possible this weekend was some sort of setup. Judging by what I knew of Tatum, I was fairly certain she played a major role in this. If it were true that was. Malcolm hated me as much as I hated him, so I doubted greatly my presence was any of his doing. That left Cyrus himself. What motive would he have to ask me to be his escort on this strange vacation? Tatum had been the one who originally invited me along. She even insisted with all her might that I come, even as I vehemently protested. I might be dumb. I wasn’t stupid. Yeah. I wasn’t exactly thrilled about this vacation, no matter how much research it would prove to offer. But it was Tatum who originally convinced me I needed this for my health and my soon-to-be work of fiction. Not to mention how strongly she’d assured me I’d be going to keep her company only to leave me hanging with the sexy Secondus for the weekend.
Cyrus had coincidently been forced to retrieve me and all my shit from my place on our way to the airport. My room was placed directly across the hall from his. Our outfits were obviously an intentional and well thought out coordinated set. It was a big job, even for the likes of Tatum Price. There was absolutely no conscious reason I could find that would cause Cyrus to be the mastermind behind this. Shit, I shot him five months before and hadn’t spoken to him since. No man, no matter how hard up, waited around for a girl for five months. It just wasn’t done.
Unless that man is Michael Petersen.
Our rotation was finally over, and Cyrus led his cow to her seat. I felt a skeptical look set in on my face as I took a seat in a linen-covered chair at a well-set table. Centerpieces stood elegantly with reaching, white branches jutting from tall, fluted crystal vases. All of the linen was a matching white, making it all look like winter with the sparkling crystal. The only light came from the hundreds of deep red, tapered candles perched atop each table in dramatic crystal candelabras. Red roses stuck deliberately from the tops of each fluted vase making it look as though the white branches were growing from pools of blood.
If it weren’t for the obvious vampire presence, I’d have said this was a wedding. A fucking fantastically decorated wedding at that.
Trying hard to keep my mind from flipping back to the horrific incident in my room with the blood and all, I decided to direct my energy to finding out why I was being pranced around the room like cattle at auction.
Cyrus took his seat beside me and I waited a moment for him to get nice and settled. It seemed the rest of the guests were seated at tables with their respective Houses, mostly the higher-ups and a few others I didn’t really recognize from the summit at the tea house. Each round table sat about eight people, all of which were dressed in the same over-the-top matching Victorian inspired garb. Malcolm and Tatum were sitting a few seats away from us, but sharing our eight-seat table. Apparently, we would be joined by four more guests. Wonderful.
“So,” I began. “I need to ask you something. I’m just going to be blunt about it.” As if there were any other way? “And I’m going to expect you to be honest with me. Please know I am fully prepared to beat the shit out of you at any given moment so choose your words wisely.” I paused for a moment to allow Cyrus a chance to acknowledge he heard and understood my words. He looked blankly in my eyes and nodded. “Good. Why am I here?” No reason to beat around the bush. I’d kept my voice lower than my average boisterous tone out of respect for the other guests who were all engaged in their own tightknit conversations, but I minced no words.
“On this earth? Or in this room?” Cyrus asked, avoiding the original question and in turn lighting a fire in my ass that had before only been a stack of kindling.
“Why am I along for this bloody strange ride? Aside from Tatum being here, I see no reason to be asked along. None that make sense to my vampire-ignorant mind anyway. I was hoping you could enlighten me.”
Taking the chance at being seduced by those perfect emerald eyes, I glared into them trying to elicit fear in the gorgeous man. I doubted it worked, but he did start talking.
“I asked Tatum to invite you,” his voice was low and rumbling and as sincere as I could imagine him to sound. In the end, he and I weren’t all that familiar with each other. Not in that sense anyhow. It seemed a camaraderie had been building out of necessity and fear of being lonely, but if it weren’t for this weekend, it was likely I would have continued living my life trying to avoid his existence as I had the five months we didn’t speak in the first place. Hey, when you shoot a guy and put him in the hospital for a week, you had the right to assume there would never be a real relationship there. Besides, aside from desperately wanting to see what he had hiding under those lovely man-panties, I really had little interest in an honest to goodness boyfriend-girlfriend thing. And a part of me presumed he was the type to not put too much stock in relationships as well.
“Why?” Always good to know the intentions of others. In sexually tense situations, it could be easy to forget that everyone had a motive. What that motive was defines the good guys from the bad guys.
“I wanted to see you.”
Oh. Is that all? Come on cockle-pus I wasn’t born yesterday.
“You can’t call a bitch up on the telephone? A text? A fucking homing pigeon? Was it necessary to bring me all the way here to have a conversation?”
“Alright,” he huffed. “Primus and Secondus are required to bring an escort to the Masque. These public events are not for us. They are a way to integrate into society and allow our culture to show they are not the dangerous child stealing freaks the media makes them out to be. If we, as the hierarchy, appear to live normal lives. Have dates,” he ran a hand over mine and I jerked it away. “Tonight is for our community only, I chose you as escort. This is not a requirement. It is my choice.” He touched my hand again; this time I let him. If only for vanity. A traditionally dressed waitress appeared with a cloth-wrapped bottle and poured bubbly champagne into expensive looking flutes.
“And what of the public? So far I have attended one public event. Not exactly the mecca of vampire culture. More like a nightclub.” Like the few I’d already been familiar with.
“Later, after we have established our routines, the event will broaden to select guests.”
“The ones who bought their way in?”
“The guests we are to welcome have purchased a ticket to attend, yes.”
“What about the summit at the tea house? Why was I there?” I wanted to know everything.
“Because I wanted you there,” his eyes softened and looked at me until I had to adjust my gaze to the tip of his nose. Just being safe. “That escort is reserved for significant others. Usually donors, but not always. Malcolm brought Tatum because their intentions toward one another are long term.”
I wasn’t sure how to take that statement. Not only had he confirmed that Tatum and Malcolm had no plans to split and in fact were likely some kind of Herman and Lily at this point. Only not even close to as cool as those two. He’d basically said he dragged me along to an event where the guys only bring the extra special girlfriends. In guy code, that was a big deal. I wasn’t ready for big deal.
“What would you have done if I had told Tatum no?” It was a totally valid question and not cheeky in the least. Really.
A sinful smile spread across his lovely face, “I would have compelled you.” His hand squeezed mine sensually then released it to lie lonely on the table. What a tease.
“So, really, I’m here because of you? Not Tatum.” That made me a little sad if I was being perfectly honest. The rollercoaster of emotions that girl had me on was beginning to get old and I wanted off.
“It was a collaborative effort. But if I hadn’t wanted you to be here, it’s likely you wouldn’t be. Not of Tatum’s will. Of mine. You are here, darling Dylan, because I honestly could not have considered a better partner for the weekend. Simple,” he laughed softly and broke his gaze.
Well, how ‘bout that.
“And what about the last five months? Other people…I mean things on your mind? Seems a little off to wait around for little ol’ me.” Cynical and suspicious until the bitter end.
“Sometimes, it takes a man a little longer to sort out the connection between his brain and his dick. It is of no fault of the woman on the waiting end of the game. I blame God for tangling up the line,” he smiled like he was talking to one of his oldest friends; innocent and comfortable and completely honest. If there was anything I appreciated in this world, it was honesty.
Mostly satisfied with his answer, I let it go. Not really because I didn’t want him to explain it down to the last detail, but it seemed as though they were wanting everyone to be quiet and focus their attention to the dance floor. I let out a long sigh and grabbed hold of the narrow stem on my champagne flute. A tasty looking strawberry lay at the bottom of the delicious bubbly goodness waiting for me to gobble it up. I smiled a bit at my own idiocy and took a hearty sip. No one, ever, guzzles champagne. Ever tried? It would shoot right out your nose if you weren’t careful. And let’s face it, if you got to the point you were guzzling the bubbly stuff, there was no way on this earth you were worried about being cautious of carbonated explosions in your nasal cavity. Word to the wise, you shouldn’t do it. Want to guzzle? Grab a beer.
I enjoyed the sensation of tickling bubbles popping their way down my gullet before I set the glass down on the stark white linen. My eyes fell on my hand in an unconscious drift.
“Oh,” I gasped lightly, but caught it before it escalated.
I blinked my eyes tight and looked again. Dainty drops of red liquid fell from my wrist to the white cloth on the table. I stared for a long while trying to make certain what I was seeing was real. Reality seemed to be a fleeting thing as of late. Again, I closed my eyes and tried again to look upon the bleeding mess. Nothing had changed with a few blinks, but my rationale tried to tell me it wasn’t actually happening. I wasn’t actually bleeding from a ghostly wound in the middle if this lavishly decorated vampire ball. My hand remained glued to the stem of the flute and
I realized someone would notice I was stuck there. Quickly, I retracted my bleeding arm, grabbing my napkin from the table as I did. I shoved my arm into my lap and wrapped it in the white cloth napkin. In the first few seconds, blood began spreading like an ink blot across the threads of the fabric. I could feel my heart speeding up, beating so rapidly I thought it’d jump straight from my chest. I tried so hard to control my breathing. If I were really bleeding, Cyrus would notice and come to my aid. If I wasn’t, all this gasping would cause alarm to those around me. Better to be safe than locked in a nuthouse.
My other hand squeezed the affected area with such force I began to lose feeling in the fingers of the bleeding hand. Risking exposure, I loosened my grip and lifted the cloth. I had to see where the blood was coming from. Just below the palm of my hand, a long jagged line stretched up my arm four or five inches. Blood oozed from the wound much slower than that of the fake slice to the throat had, but it was still fucking terrifying. And completely unrelenting.
“Shit,” I whispered to myself as I shoved the cloth against the open cut. I noticed then there was no pain. At all. I thought hard through the waves of insanity about the first incident. The bleeding throat in that mirror in my room. I’d assumed it had been the mirror, but obviously there was no mirror here so this must be something else. I tried to remember if I felt pain while I bled out all over that shiny wood floor. It didn’t seem like I had, but I really was having a hard time focusing. Pain or not, my body was reacting to the loss of blood as it should. White spots fell over my vision and I felt lack of oxygen sinking in. It wouldn’t be long before I was flat on the floor. I worked hard at controlling my breathing as I prayed for this to stop. My head swooned and I saw grey spilling into my eyes, blocking my sight and letting me know I’d soon be unconscious.
Endless Night (Dylan Hart Odyssey of The Occult Series) Page 14
