Authors: Michelle Rabe
“It’s an odd situation.”
“I understand.”
Nicholas shifted his weight from one foot to the other and rubbed the back of his neck, wanting a change of subject. “So, where is Richard?”
“He’s gone to the seat of the Conclave,” Morgan said with a shake of her head.
“Where’s that?”
“A land far, far away filled with snooty sorcerers and their ilk.” She sniffed and scrunched up her nose as she tossed the sphere up into the air. It rose to the height of the roofline before collapsing in on itself, leaving behind nothing but a puff of smoke. Morgan met Nicholas’s eyes and blew a strand of hair away from her own.
“He didn’t tell you?”
“No,” She furrowed her brow. “He didn’t say much before he left. Apparently, he wasn’t too happy with something I did.”
Nicholas raised one eyebrow and folded his arms across his chest. “What did you do?”
“I’m not certain.” The frown deepened, and she shook her head. “Whatever it was, it frightened him enough that he went to find some help working on the dream.” She strolled across the courtyard to stand a few feet from Nicholas.
“Did your mentor give you any idea about when he’ll be back?” he asked, closing the distance between them and resting his hands on her hips.
“No. Just told me to keep up with my exercises and try to not dream. As if it’s something I can stop by sheer will alone.” She rolled her eyes and wrapped her arms around his waist.
“So, is it safe to assume that learning to control this ability is going to take some time?”
“
I think this is going to take some time
is Richard’s personal mantra.” She giggled. “Maybe I should have it engraved on a mug or something for him.”
“Too long for a personalized license plate,” Nicholas said, trying to lighten the mood by reminding her of the joke plate she’d gotten for a car she bought Marcus. He’d surprised them both by liking the
OLDVAMP
moniker.
“Who knew that the Old Man would actually like that?” Morgan said, smiling.
“I’m not so sure he does. He might just be humoring you.”
“Well, that’s not very nice of him.”
“I know.”
“What’s on your agenda tonight?” Morgan asked, changing the subject.
“Hunting Jayson as usual,” he said. “Are you planning to stay in?”
“I’d actually like that. I’ve got to make some calls and check in with staff at The Dracul.” She shrugged. “Christophe said our costumes for the ball should arrive today, so I’ll have to make sure my Blood Son didn’t pick out anything too outrageous.”
“I’ll try and be back early. Maybe we can curl up on the couch and watch some old black and white movies or something?”
“That sounds nice and relaxing.” She kissed him and stepped back, offering her hand.
“I’ll do my best,” Nicholas promised and took her hand as they walked into the house together.
Fifteen minutes later, Nicholas paused at the front door, prepared to leave when a loud bang and pounding footsteps startled him from behind. He spun on the balls of his feet, hand reaching for the hilt of the dagger at his side before his mind had the chance to process what he saw. Eric had flung the study door open and raced to close the distance between them. The young vampire’s eyes were wide and accompanied by a huge smile.
“I found him!” He exclaimed thrusting a sheet of paper at the elder vampire.
Nicholas stumbled back a step and grabbed the sheet. “Found who?”
“Jayson’s history!” Eric bounced on the balls of his feet as Nicholas squinted at the tiny writing.
“Okay, since I guess I’m old and can’t read it. What did you find?”
“As we thought, his name is Jayson. He’s from here in San Francisco, lived in the same apartment building as Emily Stanton. Apparently, Samair made him a vampire over eight months ago. The vampire rumor mill says our friendly neighborhood Lord of the City never really had much control over him. But something changed about four months ago. The Nomads say there was a falling out and Samair exiled Jayson.”
“Is there any other information about him?”
“Not that I could find,” Eric said with a shrug.
“Last name? Anything?”
“No, but that doesn’t mean I won’t learn more. I can use the apartment building as a starting place, and from there I can dig into Emily and the other guy’s lives, see if I can find anything more tying them to Jayson.” Eric put a hand on the elder vampire’s shoulder. “Trust me, boss, this is big.” Without another word, he spun around and raced back to the study.
Nicholas didn't move for several seconds, a million questions running through his mind.
No. I’m not going to follow him. I know there was something in there that I’m going to want to know more about. But not right now. Let him run with this without interference for the time being. Who knows, maybe he’ll catch a break?
27 - San Francisco, CA - October 31, 2012
The streets of the city were filled with a wide array of revelers. Children dressed as fairytale characters, superheroes, and animals joined young adults portraying killers and monsters from movies. Adults were not outdone with their choices of more mature versions of the costume spectrum.
As the limousine made its way through the streets, Morgan couldn’t help but watch the humans through her window. She shifted in her seat and tried to adjust the mask that covered the upper half of her face.
Well, this is a lost cause. I hate masks, they always cut off the peripheral vision
. She had to turn her head to see as their car eased to a stop in front of a grand Victorian mansion. Christophe reached out and squeezed her hand. She smiled, shifted to the other side of the car and waited as he stepped out to escort her inside. Strains of an orchestra drifted through the night air and costumed revelers strolled up to the front doors.
“I’d say we’re fashionably late.” He held out his hand to help her out of the car.
Ahead of them stood a three-story Victorian with a tall stairway entrance that Morgan knew would lead to the second floor. The first level was a partially subterranean basement. Zachary stood in the foyer, greeting guests just beyond the open front door.
“Not exactly a practical layout,” Christophe whispered as he glanced around the house.
“I’d guess he had it redone,” Morgan replied as she noticed the open floor plan.
Several columns rose from the lower level all the way to the ceiling of the third floor. She imagined they continued through to the roof but couldn’t be certain. In front of them, a sweeping staircase led to the main floor where couples danced in formations that hadn’t been popular for centuries. To her right and left were wide balconies where guests congregated to observe the festivities. Morgan and Christophe continued to the other side of the building where a chamber orchestra played soothing background music.
“You don’t think he did it just for the party, do you?”
“Knowing Zachary, it’s possible, unlikely, but possible. No, I think this is where he holds all his parties so, of course, he’s remodeled to fit his vision.” Morgan’s voice held a hint of laughter as she and Christophe joined other guests to greet their host.
Morgan approached the area where Zachary stood watching the throngs of revelers glide around the ballroom with unnatural grace. He wore a Victorian-era frock coat, vest and cravat. His sword cane hung by its handle from the banister. The costume dated back to the era when he had become a vampire, something that Morgan knew had become a bit of a tradition with him.
She wore a sleek, black satin gown that draped her curves. The mask resembled a stylized raven done in black and silver, and it covered the upper half of her face. The costume dated back to one she’d worn in the 1930s, with a few minor changes. On her arm, Christophe’s costume recalled the same era, an impeccably tailored pinstriped suit and tie with a fedora cocked to one side on his head. His mask had been styled as a simple black and white domino. In his free hand, he turned a poker chip over and over with his fingers. The gold stamped double C logo flashed with each spin.
“Thank you for the invitation, Zachary.” Morgan stepped up to their host and offered her hand.
Zachary lifted her hand to his lips and pressed a kiss on the back of it. He released it, and she caught sight of a frown behind his mask. “I heard that Nicholai was in town and had hoped he would escort you since you’re no longer being shy about your association.”
“We were never shy,” she answered. “It was careful.”
“Still, I held out hope that the two of you would make your debut as a couple in our society at my gala.” Zachary punctuated his melodramatic statement by a sweeping gesture that made the rings on his fingers glitter in the flickering candlelight.
Morgan wasn’t certain what to make of their host’s attitude and didn’t feel the tension ease until she caught sight of Zachary’s eyes behind his simple black domino mask. She smiled, feeling the edges of her own against her cheeks.
“Well, I feel like an ugly stepsister now,” Christophe grumbled with irritation.
“Ugly? You are anything but, my dear Christophe.” Zachary turned his attention to the other vampire and smiled, flashing his fangs. “You could never be thought of as an ugly step anything.”
“You flatter me,” Christophe replied.
Their host looked over Morgan’s shoulder and nodded to his new arrivals. “Please enjoy your evening.” Zachary bowed to them before he wrapped an arm around Morgan and whispered, “My dear, you and I should speak more, later.”
“Of course,” she said as Christophe took her arm and led her away from their host.
Morgan glanced back to see Zachary speaking to a vampire in a jester’s costume liberally decorated with glittering seed beads or crystals. They walked arm in arm toward a vampire dressed in a herald’s costume, and she handed him her invitation. She and Christophe descended the stairs into the ballroom when the herald called out their names.
Vampires and humans filled the dance floor, moving in time to a court dance played by an actual chamber orchestra. Around the edges of the dance floor, couples and small groups stood drinking blood-laced champagne while chatting.
The costumes were opulent and colorful, ranging from elegant to playful and frightening to historic. Servers, who carried silver trays laden with glasses, wore matching skintight black body suits. White full-face masks with bright red lips and some sort of abstract design over the left eye and cheek completed their costumes. Morgan frowned. She never would have expected something with such a creepy effect from Zachary.
“What do you suppose Zachary wants to talk to you about?” Christophe’s question brought her attention back to her Blood Son.
“I have no idea,” she said, shaking her head. They paused at the edge of the dance floor, and she took a deep breath.
“Why do I feel like you’re getting ready for a fight?” he asked. “It’s just a ball. Hell, you’ve thrown them, there’s nothing to fear.”
“I’ve never thrown a ball and then done what I could to sow dissension among the ranks of a ruler’s people.”
“Then you missed out on a lot of fun back in the day.”
“I don’t recall you doing a lot of rabble-rousing in your time.”
“Well, I did manage to pit a couple of noble houses against one another,” Christophe replied as a gentleman in a simple black and white domino mask and tuxedo approached.
“May I have this dance?” he asked, holding a hand out to Morgan. She smiled at Christophe though he could see the humor did not reach her eyes.
Morgan nodded to the unknown vampire and allowed herself to be led out to the dance floor. The orchestra at the end of the dance floor played a waltz. Morgan and her partner moved with the music, and when that song finished, a different partner pulled her into another dance. She passed among various dancers several times and wove through the crowd in time to the music before returning to Christophe’s side.
“Learn anything interesting?”
“Apparently, our kind doesn’t care much about bad breath.” Morgan scrunched up her nose and pulled a disgusted face.
Christophe laughed and handed her a glass of champagne with a drop of crimson liquid suspended at the bottom of the effervescent drink. “I was thinking more in the rousing of the rabble area rather than the hygienic habits of the modern vampire.”
“The rabble appears to be suitably roused,” she muttered, distracted as she examined the drink in her hand.
“The bartender called it a blood drop. I know, I know it’s terribly original,” he acknowledged at her bemused look. “Yes, I am going to figure out how it is done and what we can use that is safe for human consumption to replicate the appearance.”
“You know me too well,
mon ami
.” Morgan laughed and sipped her champagne.
“I also know you hate masquerades.”
“I’m uncomfortable not knowing who I’m dancing with or talking to. It’s very disconcerting.” A fine tremor ran through her as she continued her thought. “Don’t you feel the same way, especially considering recent events?”