Terrible Praise

by Lara Hayes

  Would that not be a most gratifying life? And do I love her enough to let her have it?

  I hear her rushed footsteps echo through the brownstone. She rarely sleeps at home these days. Elizabeth moves like a caged animal about her mother’s bedroom, fussing, straightening bed-clothes that will never be used. Claire has Elizabeth in chains, and will until she draws her last breath. And that could take some time.

  The rusty lock flips on the sliding glass door and my darling appears in the center of the patio. Her face is bathed in moonlight. She hoists a trash bag to her side and carts it across the lawn to the alley, where I am always waiting for her. Her tired hands fumble with the temperamental latch on the gate, and I stop myself from reaching to hold it open for her. She does not want my help. Not yet. Elizabeth heaves the bag into the waste can. She pauses, her hand pressed to the back gate, holding her breath. The hairs on her arm stand on end.

  Call out to me, Elizabeth. Turn and face me. Tell me to come to you—with or without words—and I will. Ask me to take this pain from you. Admit that all this ugliness is more than your heart can bear.

  A breeze dances over her bare neck. My fangs descend from my gums and I cover my mouth to keep from claiming her. My legs tremor from the effort to keep still, to maintain my composure. There would be such peace in devouring her, to bathe in her blood inside and out. She would fight, of that I am certain.

  Elizabeth straightens her spine, shoulders squared, grinding her teeth. The message is clear when the gate locks behind her and her steady, purposeful tread knocks loudly over the warped patio. She throws the lock on the sliding glass door and extinguishes the kitchen light. Go away. Leave me in peace. You are not wanted here. As plain as though she opened her mouth and said it herself.

  For weeks this holding pattern, this intolerable détente.

  The moon hangs swollen overhead, whispering that my time is almost spent. I must feed before the evening’s end. But I can be patient, Elizabeth, you will see. Hold Claire’s hand, if you must. Sing songs to your mother that she never sang to comfort you. Read her stories, and change the bed. Mother Claire the way you wish she mothered you. I will be waiting, my dove. All I have is time.

  * * *

  To illustrate just how far I have fallen from his grace, Fane asks Lydia to accompany me to the quarterly meeting. I—being in no position to abstain or refuse—agree with such enthusiasm that Lydia herself appears poised to object. She gapes at me like a beached fish, but never utters a word, despite being fairly certain that I aim to get her alone, to exact my revenge for having been embarrassed in front of our Lord.

  I practically have to hold her upright in the elevator. She is pitifully uncomfortable moving about in daylight hours under the herculean weight of the waning sun. Again I curse Andrew for wielding his petty power play so that we meet in daylight hours. I could insist that his father’s consideration continue, but rather than admit any weakness, I meet his arrogance undeterred.

  “How much higher?” she asks, fanning herself.

  “To the top. Mr. Opes prefers a room with a view.”

  I run my nail over the top of her head to fix the crooked part in her black hair and Lydia swats at me blindly, doubling over with a growl. I hoist her up by her arms with a firm shake and force her wide almond eyes level with mine.

  “You will put on your sunglasses, straighten your garments and compose yourself.”

  “Stela, how are you doing this?” She stares at me openly, not attempting to hide her astonishment.

  “This is what you wanted, Lydia. A chance to usurp me and to impress Fane. I suggest you acclimate.”

  Lydia’s honeyed skin grows increasingly ashen, but she stands tall. She leans heavily upon my arm projecting an air of comfortable familiarity, instead of intense physical discomfort. Without a trace of our ever-present animosity we could almost be taken for close friends. But Lydia has never forgiven me for leading her down that alley in Constantinople and into Bård’s waiting arms all those years ago.

  Lydia was a gift to Bård from Fane. We met her father while searching for a boat that would sail my family to Denmark. Lydia was there, glowing in the sun while she and her mother bartered with a local fisherman. Bård stood beside me as broken in the waning daylight hours as his progeny is now. She seemed an excellent choice of companion, full of fire and life, the scent of myrrh curling in her thick black hair. She looked over her shoulder to her father and caught sight of two pale strangers. Leaving her mother, she walked to her father’s side and whispered in his ear. Lydia asked if she could touch my hair. Bård tightened his grip on my arm and I knew this gleaming statue of a young woman was already his.

  Who could have foreseen that she would adjust so slowly? Who could have predicted her immense sorrow? Her animosity toward Bård and her almost instant adoration of Fane? The newest addition to our coven, and by Fane’s decree our last. The world around us was changing, rushing headlong into a new era. People were not made of the same mettle anymore.

  My dear Bård. Still so very alone in this world. Even after all his spilled blood. I see him now in a new light. The pain he carries and has for centuries, that the woman he chose never chose him.

  In the lobby, Rachel stands guard at reception, her head hung and a clipboard clutched to her breast.

  “Good evening, Ms. Radu. Mr. Opes is expecting you. Right this way.”

  Rachel rushes ahead with a twirl of her pinstriped skirt and the sharp click of her heels. Beside me Lydia’s body lurches forward, eyes fixed on Rachel’s bright red hair. I pull her sharply back into step and a miserable groan escapes her parted lips. The sound makes Rachel freeze momentarily, but she recovers quickly. Smart girl, Rachel. I tighten my grip on Lydia’s arm and praise the small mercy that we were not made to wait in the lobby. I doubt Lydia could have resisted Rachel for long.

  As we round the marble corridor the glass wall of Andrew’s office assaults Lydia with blinding hues of orange and pink, courtesy of the blistering sun.

  For all our shared hostility, I am truly sorry for her pain. “Quiet yourself,” I whisper.

  “Mr. Opes, Ms. Radu is here,” Rachel announces. “She has brought a…friend?” Rachel turns to me for confirmation with an apologetic shrug and gives me a wide berth as I steer Lydia over the threshold.

  “An associate,” I amend.

  Rachel nods and disappears down the hall.

  Andrew rises slowly behind the desk, discarding his staple glass of scotch to clutch the back of his chair instead.

  “Mr. Opes, you look well.” I shoulder Lydia toward the empty armchair to the right. She collapses in a rumpled, grateful silence.

  “Ms. Radu.” hHe nods. “And your associate?” Andrew—no doubt emboldened by Lydia’s obvious fatigue—moves around the side of the desk to offer his hand. I know I should warn him away, but some lessons really must be learned.

  “Mr. Opes, this is Ms. Dilay Sadik. Your other point of contact within the family. We thought it was time the two of you met.”

  Andrew’s fixed smile twitches, and it is all the confirmation I need. This worm has been conspiring with Lydia behind my back. “Of course, Ms. Sadik. It’s a pleasure to finally meet you.” Lydia takes his outstretched hand in her own and the jovial mood sours with the loud pop of his crushed knuckles. Just before she releases him, Andrew looks to me for help.

  “Enough, Dilay.” I place a hand on her shoulder. Lydia releases him instantly with an empty apology and a warning on her sallow face. Whether or not she truly meant him harm, is hardly the point. She wasted the last vestiges of her resolve just climbing out of the elevator and managing not to murder the receptionist. The woman is a lion in a pen of spring lambs.

  Andrew’s face pales and he cups his hand to his chest, certain that he is going to die tonight. I step between them and guide Andrew back behind his desk. “Could we trouble you to close the blinds this evening? Ms. Sadik has a splitting headache.” Andrew stares at me, silent, uncomprehending. “The w
indows, Andrew. Now.” He wakes with a jolt.

  “Yes, of course.” Quickly, Andrew darts to the end of the room and closes the blinds with the press of a button. I take the vacant chair beside Lydia and pat her knee patronizingly. She shuffles upright in her seat and crosses her legs primly. As if to underscore her improvement without the sun smacking her in the face, Lydia reaches to remove her glasses.

  “Leave them,” I warn.

  Andrew clears his throat, his gaze darting fretfully between us. His pulse beats so loudly that I can see his carotid pushing away his shirt collar. “Well, shall we get to it then?” He flips open the manila folder. Everything as I predicted. How unfortunate for him.

  “Andy, I was hoping you would surprise me this quarter.”

  “Surprise you? It’s all here, every penny accounted for.”

  Lydia shifts in her chair unexpectedly and Andrew’s hand jumps to his throat, unable to conceal his unease.

  “Yes, the numbers are exactly what I anticipated.” I lean over the desk and close the folder in front of him. “But you have a debt to repay, and I see no significant progress made to fulfill that obligation.”

  Andrew falls back in his chair. His red face is damp with perspiration as he takes a long drink from his scotch. He holds the glass in his trembling hands and stares down into the murky surface of the lingering ice cubes, searching for strength. The man was given a second chance. He has no idea how rare an occurrence that is with Fane. A forty percent increase or he forfeits his life. Negotiations are closed.

  “I just need a little more time, Kathryn.”

  “The year is nearly spent.”

  He nods solemnly, and takes another long drink.

  It is in this tense moment that the unthinkable happens. Loudly clunking black boots and ripped stockings accompany an iridescent tutu. A shock of purple tangled in her blond head and a silver ring in her left nostril. There are deep black lines drawn over her fair eyebrows. His beloved child, his only heir. Her headphones are so loud she cannot hear Rachel calling out to stop her.

  “Christine?” Andrew stands abruptly and buttons his blazer over his bulging stomach. His daughter hovers in the doorway, tapping aggressively on her mobile until she registers Rachel’s approach from behind.

  “I need fifty dollars.” Christine does not glance up from her mobile. Andrew chastises her for the interruption to a meeting. “Yeah, I can see that you’re busy. Just need a yes or a no. Ella’s waiting downstairs.” She cocks an expectant eyebrow, arms crossed imperiously.

  The first photograph of Christine on her father’s desk was taken at her christening and there was something shrewd in her small round eyes even then. I knew I would be fond of her.

  “Yes, fine.” Andrew barks, fishing in his pocket for his billfold. He presses a hundred-dollar bill into her palm and tries to rush her back out into the hall. Lydia’s eyes are glued to Christine’s face, a fact the girl does not miss. I could not have planned this better if I tried.

  “Andrew, how rude.” I waft past her father and extend my hand to Christine. All the color drains from Andrew’s stricken face when she takes it, as confident and fearless as I hoped she would be. He has dreaded this day from the moment she was born, and this distracted, acerbic, beguiling creature is still a handful of years from understanding why.

  “Christine, this is Kathryn Radu. One of our more…influential clients.” Andrew clasps Christine by the shoulder to keep her from stepping any closer. She shrugs him off without a second thought.

  “Pleasure to meet you, Kathryn. Sorry I barged in unannounced,” she responds with practiced cordiality. Firm handshake. Steady eye contact. She stares quizzically at my sunglasses, but does not mention them. Good manners, excluding her entrance.

  Lydia stands abruptly on frightfully strong legs.

  “Not at all, Christine. Have a seat, if you like. We were just wrapping things up.” Lydia’s own hand hangs in the air untouched, leering at Christine. I slip my arm around her waist, yanking her beside me. Words have completely failed Andrew. He is petrified.

  “I’ve gotta get going. Thanks though. Nice to meet you both,” she says, waving over her father’s shoulder. Andrew ushers Christine through the door and follows her down the hall.

  He returns to find me holding Lydia in place, her body twitching in my arms and her face contorted by an unmistakable snarl. He stands silently in the doorway, barricading it long enough for his daughter to exit the building.

  Andrew clears his throat and steps around us. He resumes his place behind the desk, staring daggers at Lydia. “Kathryn. A word alone, please.”

  “Of course.”

  Lydia must feed, and soon. Young blood waltzing into the office was more temptation than her weakened body could withstand. “Wait for me in the lobby,” I instruct with a firm hand on the small of my sister’s back. “And Dilay, if you harm Rachel, I shall have no choice but to inform Mr. Radu.” Dazed and famished, Lydia shuffles toward the hallway.

  Andrew removes his suit coat and his relief is palpable. “Kathryn, I’m fairly certain this goes without saying, but Ms. Sadik’s conduct this evening was—”

  “Completely unacceptable,” I finish.

  “Yes. Unacceptable, and terrifying to be frank. Are her visits to become a regular occurrence?”

  I take a seat. “That depends entirely on you, Andrew.”

  “Kathryn, I am committed to making the estate as profitable as possible. I assure you.” His voice quakes, the man is almost to the point of pleading but not for his own life. For all I dislike Andrew Opes, I will admit that Lydia unnerved us both by moving on Christine. We have invested too many years in this enterprise, this family, to see our fortune spoiled for a single meal.

  “Ms. Sadik’s visit has nothing to do with your performance, or lack thereof.” Andrew—shocked by my candor—leans forward on his elbows. “I carry a considerable workload for our mutual benefactor. You know this, better than most. Lately, Mr. Radu has been worried that my burdens are too great. Those concerns were underscored at our last family meeting when Dilay showed a staggering knowledge of our financials, and I did not.”

  I pause and rise from my seat. Andrew now has a choice, and we have the opportunity to become allies instead of rivals.

  I walk around the side of his desk toward the window, parting the blinds with the back of my hand. Sunlight cuts across the top of his desk in a long thin blade of burnished gold—wretchedly painful. Slowly, Andrew turns in his seat, staring at me as though seeing me for the first time. His eyes alight with opportunity. Perhaps he has a bit of his father’s fighting spirit after all.

  “Suppose Mr. Radu was to learn about Ms. Sadik’s conduct this evening? That she behaved unprofessionally, threateningly, and that I feared for the safety of my child.” His voice softens when referencing Christine and I know that I have him. I allow myself a small smile which Andrew answers with his own. I remove my sunglasses and look him square in the eyes. For once, he does not cower.

  “Andrew.” I place my hand on his arm. “Where would we be without your family’s loyalty? It was a genuine pleasure to make Christine’s acquaintance this evening, I hope you know that. If Mr. Radu thought for a moment that the Opes legacy was in danger he would have no choice but to act. To protect her, if only for the sake of his own family.” I adjust the collar of his shirt.

  “I think we understand each other, Kathryn.” He rises from his seat and stands taller in my presence than ever before. He takes my chilled hand firmly in his own.

  “Careful Andrew,” I slide my sunglass over my aching eyes, “I may grow to like you.”

  In the waiting area, Lydia has curled into the corner of the long black sofa against the far wall. Her eyes are locked on Rachel’s every move. Rachel hears my approach and flees the fortress of her desk to press the call button for the elevator.

  “Come now.” Lifting Lydia by the shoulder, I mouth a silent thank you to the erstwhile receptionist.

  “We�
��ll see you next quarter, Ms. Radu.”

  I shove Lydia inside the elevator and she sinks down the steel wall before the doors have closed. I catch her by the lapel and pull her against me while Rachel pretends to tidy pristine her workspace. “A pleasure as always, Rachel.”

  Lydia’s body is limp in my arms by the time the elevator reaches the cool shade of the basement. Wrapping her arm around my shoulder, I carry her across the parking garage to my vehicle and drop her heavy limbs into the passenger seat. Her head rolls down to her chest.

  “What am I to do with you?” I pull her head back by her hair and remove her sunglasses. Her eyes are twice their usual size and completely unfocused. The thirst has her now, and there will be no hunting until she is replenished. I consider taking her to the hospital—the only safe place she could feed in her weakened state—but I remember my promise to Elizabeth not to feed there.

  A low moan escapes Lydia’s pale lips and she tips toward me in her seat, slumped across the center console.

  “Stela?” Her eyes struggle to find my face as I brush the hair back behind her shoulders. I really do not have strength to give, but I see no acceptable alternative. Fane would be furious with me if I delivered her to him half-starved. I bite the skin of my wrist, and hold it to her mouth.

  “You must feed.”

  She needs no further encouragement. The strength returns quickly to her hands, which latch onto my elbow and forearm when the first drop hits her tongue. Just a few mouthfuls and she should be strong enough to hunt. We will find something elderly for her, though Lydia prefers her nourishment nubile and full of exuberance. A young woman is simply out of the question tonight. Lydia does not have the wherewithal for the seduction game. She twists the skin of my arm in her fingers, and I recall Elizabeth’s ashen face that night in the alley, crumpled on the filthy ground. Sharing my blood with this ungrateful little beast seems repugnant in comparison. I banish the thought of Elizabeth immediately, and pry my arm free. Lydia reels back with a bellowing gasp, shaking with newfound energy.