The Vampire's Doll (The Heiress and the Vampire Book 1)

by Jaclyn Dolamore

  “I wanted to feel how strong you are. And it was marvelous.” She squeezed her arms out of his embrace and spread them above her head. “I see how Lu and Els look at you but I’m the only one who gets to have you. Just—is that it?”

  “No. That certainly isn’t it. Vampires have a lot of stamina.” He slid his hand up the length of her arms until he reached her wrists, catching them together over her head, leaning close to her again with a smile that was both fond and amused. “You know, I had a feeling you’d be a naughty little thing if given the chance. All those demure dresses didn’t fool me.”

  She didn’t feel like denying it right now, although she hoped that wasn’t how Mr. Samaron saw her.

  “I want to make you beg for mercy.” Keeping her hands pinned above her head and her pelvis pinned by his cock, he bent his mouth to her nipple, running his teeth along the edges and then flicking it with his tongue. At the same time, his other hand moved between her legs and his thumb nudged out the hidden spot that always grew hot when she thought about him.

  She was helpless against this assault to her senses, crying out incoherent sounds. She tried not to think about how he had learned to do this. Whoever Eliza was, Parsons hated her guts.

  And then there was the other woman, the one Calban forced him to kill. She didn’t blame him for it, but…she couldn’t shake the thought. Some dark part of her personality was stirred by him. It wasn’t that she glorified death or murder. Far from it. She had known death more intimately than most people her age, knew just how terrible it was.

  Maybe that was it. She had always felt like a dead girl. Perhaps it was no wonder that most people liked to treat her like a true Fanarlem. Flesh-born Fanarlem had lost something so precious. Her own living body was rotting away under the ground. It was easier not to think about it.

  Dennis had known the edge of death; he would always know it. That was why he was the perfect person to breathe life back into her.

  “You belong to me, Miss Belvray,” he said softly.

  “Oh, yes…” Her eyes flew open. “Don’t leave, Dennis, please don’t leave. I’ll go with you. I’ll go where you need to go.”

  He shook his head, as if to say, This is no time to make important decisions.

  It was true. But—fates— Why? If she was a flesh and blood girl she could have shape-shifted her ears and gone with him to America. If he was a regular human he could safely escape to the mainland. But as long as she was a doll and he was hungry for blood—and neither of those things could change—there was no good place to run away. Unless they did something truly crazy.

  She was starting to feel like that might not be so bad after all. Her safe little world felt less safe by the day. So what was really crazy, then?

  She was sinking into the deepest pleasure she had ever felt, all her yearnings tamed by his hand, his body. So this is what hunger feels like…and this is how it feels to be satisfied. She moaned as he brought her to a state that was like flying—like a ride at Wonderland—like coming home to someone you loved—all at once, somehow.

  He kissed her brow, stroked her cheek with his hand. Now that it was over, she could tell he was thinking of saying goodbye. It was so painful to contemplate that she wasn’t sure how it could be done.

  He pulled out of her and glanced at himself and between her legs. “That was surprisingly…clean. Where does it go?”

  “There’s a vanishing spell in there, like the one that lets me eat. That I know. If you stick around long enough you’ll hear a crude joke about it.”

  His eyes flashed. “Who is telling crude jokes?”

  “Not about me, personally. Or to me. It’s just an old joke about concubines. Implying that you could lose your parts if you sleep with them. It doesn’t actually work that way, of course.”

  “Ah. I must admit, sometimes I’m confused about how Fanarlem are viewed here. It seems like there is a fair amount of stigma attached to marrying a Fanarlem girl, but at the same time you’re desired.”

  “That’s exactly it,” she said. “It’s both.”

  They reached for their clothes, a somber mood settling in. They helped each other fasten buttons, but didn’t say much.

  Down in the street, the noises of fighting had escalated, like a new gang had entered the scene. As she was buttoning up her boots, the ground shook slightly, vibrating their rooftop.

  “What’s causing that?” Dennis asked.

  “Sorcery.” She peered over the ledge. “Oh—the elite guard is here now.” They were visible on white horses, in formation with the front and rear guards carrying banners, although the formation was quickly breaking up as they rode into the crowd. The elite guard was serious business, with sorcerers and a few telepaths, and poisoned blades for the swordsmen. They would cut your arm off and ask questions later.

  Parsons’ eyes roved over the crowd, trying to gauge the level of violence—was the elite guard here merely to scare some sense into people, or was the city descending into a riot? There was a healer’s carriage off to one side tending to someone, but no sign of anyone knocked unconscious on the ground. These seemed like good signs. But then her eyes caught a swiftly moving black figure low to the ground.

  “Irik,” Parsons gasped. “She’s changed into a leopard.”

  “Isn’t that what she does?”

  “Yes, but she really can’t control herself once she’s in animal form, especially in crowds. Perhaps you can understand. Her animal impulses take over and she gets frightened of people. She’s running away and she might have a hard time changing back. And if she does, she’ll be naked in some odd corner of the city.”

  “You want to chase her down?”

  “You’re fast enough to do it, aren’t you?”

  “I’m willing to find out if you’ll come with me.”

  She cared more about an excuse to make the night last forever than she cared about Irik, who could surely handle herself, but she nodded eagerly.

  She took her place on his back again, and he half climbed, half slid down the gutter, running down the alley to try and head off Irik at the end of the street. He ran, holding her legs. She felt a little silly doing this, even as she liked it. He ran so fast that the speed blew her hair back, as if they were in an automobile.

  The buildings were built with their walls touching each other until the end of the block, so they had to run a ways to get back out on the main street.

  “We should have dashed across the roofs to keep an eye on her,” Dennis said. “I was trying to spare you all the jumping, but live and learn.”

  They emerged at the end of the block, a distance away from the theater, but it was within view. Two motorvans had driven in with the emblem of the city guard on the side, which must mean arrests. There was still a lot of shouting and scuffling.

  Irik was running away from the scene, heading south, and she surely had no comprehension of where she was going. The palace and their homes were in the other direction. It was easy to track her progress based on the shrieks and screams in the crowd as they spotted her.

  “That way,” Parsons said.

  “I see her.”

  Dennis ran, dodging pedestrians. The fancy new district ended abruptly almost as soon as they veered down the next street. Not half a mile from the glittering theater and the mob were old-style shacks serving grilled fish or soup to laborers, and peddlers had set up carts of wares for the buying and selling of clothing, pots and pans, books and trinkets.

  The electric lights had also run out. Parsons knew her father had had some battles with the Power and Light Department mismanaging infrastructure, leaving large parts of the city without power mere blocks from brightly lit streets.

  Dennis slowed his run a bit, looking at the people. An elegant woman with snow-white hair had a small healing shop, and was reattaching a man’s finger in plain view. A few passersby were standing around watching, and applauded when she was done. And then there was the Ven-Diri shrine, tucked back from the street, with skulls g
uarding the gate.

  “We’re going to lose track of Irik,” Parsons said.

  He picked up his pace. The jostling was starting to make her feel a little out of sorts.

  She soon realized that no one was shrieking or making way for an unexpected animal ahead of them. “Wait—we’ve lost her,” Parsons said.

  “She might have slunk through the space between buildings,” Dennis said, slowing his steps. “Maybe she’s hiding somewhere.”

  “Can you smell her?”

  “I’m not a dog.”

  “Don’t you have a strong sense of smell, too?”

  “Only for blood. If she was bleeding, that would be useful.” He bent over, hands on his knees, and she slid off of him. He looked around. “What is this place?”

  “One of the old neighborhoods that hasn’t been rebuilt yet. I never have reason to come here.”

  A woman in a shabby silk jacket sniffed at them as she passed. Parsons hoped this wasn’t a dangerous area. Her fine clothes were probably asking for a pickpocket.

  “I finally don’t feel like I’m in America.” Dennis took her hand again and led her down a narrow side street. The air smelled deliciously of uncouth delights—fried buns dripping with sugary sauces and strips of grilled chicken drizzled with salty-sweet golden syrup. Two dirty children were devouring the street food off their skewers. Despite their shabbiness, they looked pleased with themselves as they walked by with full mouths. Parsons thought they were boys from afar, but in fact they were girls, marked by their double braids. Men and women both wore a single braid, but only women wore two.

  “Girls, have you seen a leopard anywhere?” Parsons asked. “A big spotted cat the size of a person?”

  They stared at her. “If we’d seen anything like that I guess we’d be screaming,” one of them said, although she didn’t look like she’d scream at much of anything.

  “Thank you anyway.”

  They muttered as they moved on. Parsons heard one of them say, “A nice concubine like that down here?” Then the other one turned and said, “Hey, are you lost?”

  “No,” Parsons said. “I live on Bright Hill. I’m Trosiran Belvray’s daughter.”

  The girl shrugged and turned back around. Parsons took a few indignant steps in the other direction before thinking, Those are exactly the sorts of girls who know everything. She turned back to them. “Hey,” she called.

  The girls were obviously intrigued by her, because their attention snapped back instantly. “Where can I go to buy spells around here?” Parsons asked.

  “Do you mean…little trinket spells?” The girl spoke in a sing-song. “Or…spells?” She lowered her voice.

  Dennis snorted.

  “The second one,” Parsons said.

  The girl held out a grubby hand. “I know you have money, Miss Bright Hill,” she said, when Parsons was not immediately forthcoming.

  Parsons fished out a few coins. The girl wiggled her fingers. Parsons finally gave up a paper bill.

  “That’s more like it.” The girl rolled her eyes. “You want Darem’s place. It’s down the alley.” She pointed.

  “Thank you.”

  “I’m not done. You think good potion dealers just hang out on the street? Go down the alley, and then, make a right down the other alley, where the skull-seller man is, and then keep going almost all the way to the north shore until you see a white house on the left. Go through the gate and around the back to the basement door and knock.” She sounded like she thought this might discourage Parsons—it was a long walk. Then she held out a grubby hand.

  “More?” Parsons said, indignant.

  “She’s not giving you everything or she won’t be able to buy spells when she gets there,” Dennis said. “Run along.”

  “Be careful,” the girl said. “You look like a concubine.” Then she scurried off, ducking down another alley.

  “What spells are these?” Dennis asked.

  Parsons was hesitant to even explain. “I don’t know if this will work,” she said. “But I have a crazy idea.”

  “We need a crazy idea right now.”

  “I’m sure you’ve noticed that even though I’m made out of cloth, I don’t really look like cloth,” Parsons said. “I still look much closer to a real person than anything you could construct. Part of that are spells infused with the properties of real skin that change the cloth so it behaves like skin. But part of it is also illusion. The illusions smooth things over. Well, there are spells strong enough to make a Fanarlem look like a real girl. The Fanarlem maker always says they can’t be used because they cost too much and some people see through them, but the plain truth is, they’re illegal. They make people look like something they’re not.”

  Uncertainty skimmed across his face. “They would make you look like a human girl? Is that what you’re getting at?”

  “Yes…I could go to America with you with one of those spells. And at this point, we’re in trouble no matter what. So I’d rather go with you.”

  “You’d look human? Even to me?” He sounded stunned.

  Did the thought actually displease him?

  He laughed faintly. “If that’s really true—if you could really come with me… Imagine if the Baltimore vampire clan had actually found a way to live among humans safely. We could have the best of both worlds. Magic and…home…and you.”

  “I don’t know if I could stay forever,” Parsons said, thinking it through more. “If something happens to me, there will be no one who could repair me properly…”

  “How often do you need…repairs?”

  “Not as often as most Fanarlem because my skeleton is metal and very durable. I can repair skin myself, if the damage isn’t too bad. If I’m careful, I should last forever…” She shook her head. “I don’t dare hope for any of it yet,” she said. “But let’s find this Darem person.”

  They followed the directions, through increasingly rough neighborhoods where Parsons and Dennis both received an increasing amount of stares. The building was ancient, peeling white paint over split logs, with a very narrow door set in the ground at the bottom of stairs that led down to the basement. Parsons knocked.

  The door had a top part and a bottom part, and only the top creaked open a crack. A woman’s nose and eye appeared. “Yesss?”

  “I’m here for spells,” Parsons said.

  “What spells?”

  “Can I speak to Darem?” Parsons asked. Darem was a male name.

  “I’m Darem,” the woman hissed.

  Of course. “I want an illusion spell that will make me look like flesh and blood,” Parsons said. Just saying those words felt strange. She was starting to feel a little protective of her cloth self, now that she had the chance to hide her.

  “Dolly girl, you don’t need to look flesh and blood. You are a nice looking prostitute. And you have a nice looking man tonight, too, I do say. Where are you from?”

  Goodness, they were deep enough into the rough part of town that even concubines were no longer the primary consideration. “I’m not a prostitute,” Parsons said. “I’m flesh-born.”

  “Ah. That explains it. Poor lovey. Well, they ain’t cheap, but you do look expensive.”

  “I have a bracelet,” Parsons said, unhooking the jewelry, not without a sizable dose of guilt. Would Mama understand this?

  A hand darted out from the crack in the door, fingers waving. Parsons glanced at Dennis. He took the bracelet from her. He seemed to read her expression and understand that she wanted him to hold the bracelet up for inspection. He was strong enough to seize it back if the woman tried anything.

  Darem fingered the jewels and grunted. “All right. Wait there.”

  A moment later, she returned with a small bottle. “Here we are,” she said.

  “How do I know it’s really going to do what you say it’ll do?” Parsons asked, although she already knew the answer—There is no way to know. She would have to surrender one of her mother’s possessions and trust a woman who w
ould only let them see one of her eyeballs.

  “I have a reputation to uphold around these parts,” Darem said. “I don’t give out bad spells! ‘Less I’ve been tricked on the supplier end. Possible, but not likely.”

  “How does it work? How will it make me look?”

  “It picks up what you think you want to look like; at least that’s the best way I can explain it.”

  “All right…”

  “I want to see your face,” Dennis said.

  Darem huffed, but she opened the door the rest of the way. Her face offered no surprises: she had wide, wary eyes, a long nose, a tanned face and crooked teeth.

  “This potion is what you swear it is?” he confirmed. “A powerful illusion spell that won’t fade away?”

  “I swear it.”

  He handed her the bracelet, snatching up the potion at the same time. She gave him one last look and slammed the door shut.

  “Can you tell when people are lying?” Parsons asked him.

  “No, but—as we’ve seen, I have an effect on people.”

  “You do,” she agreed. They climbed the stairs. The potion was in his hand, just a small bottle of clear liquid, but she felt the weight of its presence like it was a stone in her stomach. Before it could ever be used, she had to find a way to escape through the mirrors, and it was one thing to plot casually…

  She unfastened her other bracelet and turned back to the door, knocking again.

  “Yes?” Darem said, nose appearing once more.

  “For fate’s sake, we’ve seen your face already,” Parsons said. “I wondered if you had strong diversion spells. Something that affects everyone except Fanarlem and the undead would be ideal.” She held up the other bracelet.

  “I have crying smoke. Gets in the lungs.”

  “And throw in a burning wand.” Like the one she had been given at the prison to torture Dennis, Parsons knew those were a cheap weapon. “And a few basic forgetting potions.”

  “That’s a bit much for one bracelet. Usually I trade for money or other magical objects, you know. I have to bother to go pawn that bracelet.”

  Parsons felt sick thinking of any of her mother’s possessions being pawned. She had been trying not to think that far. “I could shut this whole place down,” she snapped. “I could have the guard at your door in an hour to check your guild membership.”