by Sloan Archer
I said, “That can’t be true.” But it probably was.
“I’m sure it was as horribly received in America, but the British press tore her apart for that one. I can’t say I blame them.” Leopold looked like he’d just sucked on a lemon. “I don’t know what she was thinking when she designed it. It nearly ended her career!”
The Smokescreen debacle Leopold was referring to was rather hideous. No, ridiculous—hideous and ridiculous. I was only trying to be polite by showing my devotion to Seraphim’s designs. I was no fair weather fashionista!
Still . . . The collection was bizarre: mesh face coverings and tight wool fuchsia pantsuits reminiscent of body condoms with sleeves, like the mutant offspring of a fencing uniform and wetsuit. It was the epitome of high fashion gone horribly, horribly wrong. Not surprisingly, the trend never caught on. Not a single knockoff was fashioned (and you know a trend must be bad if mass retailers don’t deem it worthy of producing knockoffs). Not only was Smokescreen uncomfortable, but it was also expensive. Most of the pieces were crafted by hand—like the abominable Plexiglas headpieces—which had been reflected in the collection’s price. No offence to Seraphim, but I didn’t need to spend five grand to look like a crazy person when, for a few bucks, I could as easily wear my pajama bottoms and slippers to the grocery store and send out the same message.
I said to Leopold, “I still can’t believe you know her.”
“Yes, Phimie and I go way back.”
Robert snorted. “I bet.”
Ignoring Robert, Leopold commented, “Your timing is rather fortunate, Mercy.”
“Oh?”
“Our dear Seraphim is going to suffer an unfortunate accident next month.”
“No!” I squawked. “So soon?”
“You told her?” Leopold accused Robert.
“Your secret is safe with me. As long as Seraphim hands over the clothes.” I smiled wickedly and then winked to show that I was joking.
“Did she decide to go with the paparazzi death?” Robert asked with hope.
“No,” Leopold said. “Fire.”
“Fire? That’s a new one,” Robert commented. “Her home?”
“Her design studio in Chelsea. She’s going to stage it to look like arson to make the whole murder angle fit.”
“With all her clothes in it?” I clucked. “No!”
“This is where your fortunate timing comes in. Seraphim needs to liquidate her supply to prepare for the fire. She happened to contact me a few weeks ago—I hadn’t talked to her in months prior to that—so you’re in luck, Mercy.”
“That is good timing,” I agreed.
“I got lucky, too. I was looking to staff a new butler, and here came along Seraphim with Edgar’s information. She’s the one who recommended him.” Leopold was thoughtful for a moment. “Sometimes the universe provides, doesn’t it?”
“When did you get so Zen?” Robert teased. “Next you’re going to try to align our chakras.”
“And it’s no trouble than Seraphim’s, uh, fitting me with clothes?” I asked. I wasn’t exactly sure how I should phrase the question since I wasn’t clear if the clothes would be given to me or if they were just on loan during my stay in London. How mortifying would it be if I assumed the frocks were mine only to have them repossessed? That would be a great way to repay Leopold’s hospitality, wouldn’t it, shoplifting his friend’s couture?
And what was it with vampires and designer fashion? They loved it—Marlena and her closet full of gowns worth more than the average suburban house, and Michael giving me a bunch of outfits on my last day at Dignitary. He did try to murder me in the car on the way home, but still. And now Leopold was arranging this meeting with Seraphim—not that I was complaining.
“Of course the clothes are yours to keep, Mercy! What did you think, Seraphim was going to let you borrow them and then come strip them off your back?”
“I never . . . How did you know that’s what . . .” I sputtered.
Robert tapped his forehead.
“That’s right!” I exclaimed. “Robert mentioned that you could read minds. I can’t believe I forgot!” I’d been around vampires so often that sometimes their idiosyncrasies were lost on me.
“Forgive me, Mercy!” Leopold said. “I shouldn’t meddle inside your head. It’s very improper.”
“He’s showing off,” Robert assured me.
“I’m afraid he’s right,” Leopold agreed. “But don’t you worry, Mercy. I can’t see everything inside your mind—just what you’re broadcasting loud and clear, and only when I make an effort to look . . . And I hardly ever bother looking, darling. Humans can be so dreadfully uninteresting. No offense.”
“None taken,” I laughed.
“Mercy knows about my mindreading, hmm?” Leopold said to Robert. “You wouldn’t be revealing my secrets, would you?”
“To everyone I meet,” Robert smiled. “I’ve had a few of them placed on billboards around San Francisco.”
“I wouldn’t put it past you,” Leopold chided.
“I’m yanking your chain, old buddy,” Robert said. “Like how you yanked mine in San Francisco about Shelia being pretty? Mercy made me sleep on the sofa for a week after that little remark.”
“I did not!”
“I have no idea what either of you two are on about,” Leopold uttered dramatically, which caused me to laugh. He winked at me over Robert’s shoulder. As dry as Leopold was, he was unexpectedly funny. And I loved the way he interacted with Robert. The two of them must have been a sight to see back in the 1800’s. To conceal their vampirism from the public, they used to pretend that they were brothers. They certainly had the sibling rivalry act down.
Leopold said, “Speaking of Shelia, how is she? I was hoping she’d decide to tag along. Or does she still have that child and husband?” His mouth pulled down at the corners, a combination of Yuck! and How dare she!
“Yes, Leopold, Shelia still has her husband and baby. It’s shocking, I know,” Robert deadpanned.
“It’s her loss,” Leopold said tartly.
Leopold took both my hands into his and then pulled my arms apart to get a better look at me. “Mercy, you look lovely.”
I knew Leopold was only minding his manners. “If by ‘lovely’ you mean haggard and jetlagged, then, yes, I do look lovely.”
I was really starting to feel the time difference. London was eight hours ahead of California, so my internal body clock was all screwed up. I stifled a yawn, aware that Leopold had just gotten out of bed. From what I’d garnered from research I’d done online about international travel, the smartest way to combat jetlag while abroad was to get on the local sleep schedule. I wondered how I was going to pull that one off, with our host being nocturnal.
“Nonsense. You are a goddess!” Leopold sang.
A girl could get used to having a friend like Leopold around.
“Easy, pal,” Robert joked. “She’s already taken.”
Leopold released my hands. “Yes, all the good ones are.”
Edgar came back with our coffee. I think I scared the poor guy when I lunged for the mug like a hyena pouncing on a rabbit, not even sparing the time to add sugar. I downed the whole thing in about three seconds flat while the three men eyeballed me like I’d gone mental.
I didn’t know what kind of espresso Edgar had used, but I suspected that the beans had been roasted in jet fuel. The stuff was crazy-strong. Soon my heart was fluttering like a hummingbird. “Wow! This is amazing stuff!” I yelled. My sentences were single words. “Jetlagwhatjetlag? Isureamawakenow!”
Edgar took the mug from me before I had the opportunity to ask for another. He did not offer, either. I took that as a hint to simmer down.
Leopold clapped. “Are you two ready for your surprise?”
9
Leopold’s surprise was waiting for us on the other side of his estate, in the large prefab building Robert and I had discussed earlier.
We made the trek across the pristine gre
en lawn in silence, Leopold leading our pack. The moon was out, fat and pale, illuminating the path from the house. Leopold, unlike Robert and me, wasn’t carrying a flashlight. Some vampires could see in the dark as well as humans could see during the day. Leopold was one of them.
“I cannot wait to show you what’s inside!” Leopold was giddy, crackling with excitement like a kid in a candy store.
Robert and I cast surreptitious glances at each other along the way. I raised my eyebrows. What do you think it is? Robert held up a hand in response. I have absolutely no clue.
As if catching our nonverbal exchange behind his back, Leopold said, “You two will never guess! But it’s very exciting.”
“And also very far away,” Robert muttered. “Why didn’t you have the building built closer to the house? And who are all those people inside?”
“Hush now.” Leopold charged on. “Be happy that it isn’t raining. Mercy, darling, you will soon find out that it never stops raining in this country!”
“I know what you mean about the rain in London. We—and our luggage—were soaked as we were getting off the plane. It was relentless,” I mused. “But, I don’t know . . . San Francisco could give London a run for its money in the rain department.”
“Okay,” Leopold said sarcastically. He turned so that I could see his disbelieving face over his shoulder.
I smiled, ecstatic. I was being mocked by my boyfriend’s oldest friend, which according to Robert’s earlier words meant that I’d been accepted into their boy’s club.
“You didn’t answer my question about the people,” Robert said.
“I’ll explain it all once we’re inside, though I imagine many of your questions will be answered after we have a proper look around.”
“Can you at least tell me when you had this monstrosity built? I don’t recall you ever mentioning your estate being under construction. Mercy says it’s a prefab of some kind?”
“It looks like a library,” I chimed in for no reason. I was still high from the coffee, compelled to chatter.
“It’s no library, I can assure you,” Leopold said mysteriously. “But, yes, Robert, that’s right. That whole building came in on a truck. It was in pieces like oversized LEGO. I hired a crew to put it together after I got back from London.”
“You’re joking!” I blurted. “This is all brand new?”
“Correct. It took the crew less than three days to finish assembly, which is amazing. Ask Robert—getting anything built in the UK is like pulling crocodile teeth.”
“But money talks,” Robert smiled. “And there are more than a few builders in London eager to listen.”
“Indeed,” Leopold agreed. “And let me tell you, it took a lot of chatter to get it built so quickly.”
“But why the hurry?” Robert asked.
Leopold mimed zipping his lips and throwing away the key. “Nope. Not telling.”
“The suspense is killing me!” I groaned. We were nearly there. “I wonder . . .” I froze in my tracks, suddenly understanding the strange sensation I’d felt earlier, the déjà vu . . . The feeling that I’d seen the building someplace.
I had seen that building before, just not in person. It was the same structure I’d see in some of Michael’s sketchbooks. And I don’t mean that it was like the building in Michael’s sketches. It was the building in Michael’s sketches. The only difference was that this building had its lights on, which was maybe why I hadn’t recognized it sooner.
Leopold turned around. “You wonder what, Mercy?”
“I . . . uh . . . if Leopold is keeping a unicorn in there.”
Robert and Leopold were confused.
“Did you have another cappuccino while we weren’t looking?” Robert joked.
I beamed at Robert and Leopold. The grin felt stiff on my lips. It probably looked worse. “It was a joke, you guys! That bit about the unicorn was because this feels so cloak-and-dagger.”
“Err . . . Sure,” Leopold said.
I got moving, wishing there was a way to get Robert away from Leopold long enough to tell him about the building’s connection to the sketches. Leopold was nice and all, but I didn’t feel comfortable discussing Michael’s morbid scrapbooking hobby in front of him.
By now we were a few feet from the building. I was afraid, weary of what waited inside. Whatever it was, it couldn’t be pleasant if it had been featured so prominently in Michael’s visions. I tried to think of a reason that would justify going back to the safety of Leopold’s main house, but I came up blank.
The building was highly secure. Around its parameter was chain-link fencing about twenty feet high. It hummed with electricity, daring would-be trespassers to cop a feel. If the humming wasn’t warning enough, yellow metal triangles cleared up the confusion every few feet. Each sign was decorated with a cartoon hand that had three jagged lightning bolts squiggled above the fingers. Below the hand was a warning: HIGH VOLTAGE. A person would have to be a complete halfwit not to grasp the lethality of the enclosure.
I opened my mouth to enquire if dinosaurs were being held inside the building, but my throat was too tight to speak. The joke wasn’t that amusing, anyway. For a horrible moment I thought I was going to cry, but I managed to keep it under control.
A large man stood guard at the fence entrance. He was built like a gorilla, and I swear he didn’t move, blink, or swallow once the whole time we were standing there. I wanted to reach out and poke him to make sure that he wasn’t a statue, but he didn’t seem like the sort of individual who’d appreciate being poked by strangers.
I had a feeling that the gorilla man wasn’t the only guard present, and that he and his conspicuousness, like the buzzing fence, were merely for show. I squinted at the top of the building, where a half dozen glowing eyes floated in the gloom. Vampire eyes. So there was a far worse unseen danger lurking in the darkness.
Resting on the guard’s hip was an automatic weapon of some sort, which I found strange because it was illegal to possess such a firearm in Britain. Also, the man was gigantic, making him a weapon unto himself. It was overkill, but in view of Leopold’s taste in decorating, the guard matched the surroundings.
Gorilla Man opened the gate and stepped aside. Once we were inside, he latched it closed and resumed being a statue.
The handle on the building’s door wasn’t the typical pull knob variety. There actually wasn’t a knob whatsoever. Leopold pushed a flat shiny spot on the wall and a small slab of metal jutted out like magic. Leopold punched in a series of numbers on a keypad and then swiped a card along an electronic strip, located to the right. Something inside clicked. Leopold waited three seconds and then pulled the door open. Whatever our surprise was, getting to see it was not going to be as simple as breezing through the doorway. My trepidation intensified.
“After you,” Leopold said.
Robert and I gazed at each other tentatively and then walked into the building.
“I assure you that nothing is going to jump out at you,” Leopold called behind us, clicking the door lock into place. “No boogie man.”
The inside was sparsely decorated but immaculately clean. The glass windows, like Leopold’s palatial mansion, didn’t have a single fingerprint or smudge on them. The main area was an open plan—lots of exposed space like a loft—with a few hallways that branched off.
In a large section to our left sat a cluster of leather chairs evenly spaced around a coffee table. Off to the side was a fish tank full of spectacular tropical sea life that would astound even residents of Great Barrier Reef. Fanned across the coffee table were several glossy magazines: Elle Decoration, Harper’s Bazaar, W, GQ. The magazine on top was one I’d never heard of, London Prosperity. The woman showcased on the cover was none other than Seraphim Blythe. Seraphim Blythe: Designer, Mother, Third Generation Fashion Diva, the caption read. I snickered. At least London Prosperity had gotten one out of three right.
The chairs, magazines, fish tank—it was like a waiting room. But a wait
ing room for what?
I was struck by the chilliness of the air. Vampires, I’d learned, were impervious to cold. They typically preferred chilliness to heat, probably because warmth was reminiscent of sunny days that could kill them. Before Robert had turned back into human, I was always harassing him to turn up the thermostat in our home. One occasion in particular, I’d checked the temperature after seeing my breath while exhaling— Robert swears I didn’t, but I did—and it had dipped all the way down to forty-five degrees. Living in San Francisco, it could get frigid inside mighty fast if you didn’t keep an eye on the thermostat. By comparison, the inside of this building would make San Francisco weather feel like summer in the Bahamas.
There were several men and women milling about above us on the second floor. They were like bumblebees buzzing around, toiling double-time with Leopold now in the building. He clearly ran a tight ship.
A scowling woman in a white lab coat hurried down the stairs towards us. A human. Leopold gave her a brisk nod. “Ah, Doctor Garran.”
The woman still looked worried despite Leopold’s pleasant greeting. “We didn’t expect you and your guests so soon.”
“Are there any new developments?”
“Err, no.”
“Then what does it matter?” Leopold scowled, not really looking for an answer.
“What a minute,” Robert interjected. “These doctors, this building . . . Is all of this for me?”
“For . . . you?” The doctor’s gaze shifted to Leopold.
“I’ll explain soon,” Leopold said.
“This is the lab you’ve set up? I didn’t realize you actually had one built, Leopold,” Robert grinned. “Why didn’t you mention it? I can’t believe you went through all this trouble.”
The doctor looked as confused as ever. She opened her mouth to speak and Leopold shot her a look fierce enough to peel paint right off the walls.
“Robert, you’re jumping ahead!” Leopold chided.
I got the distinct feeling that Leopold was stalling, so I suggested, “Maybe you could show us around?”
