Les vampires de Manhattan

by Melissa de la Cruz

  The car swooped into a long line of limos fronting the block. The streets were roped off, and the museum was lit up with half a dozen spotlights, shining on the facade and up into the sky.

  The time for jokes had passed, and Edon and Ara were silent as they climbed out of the limousine. They made their way up the long red carpet, pausing for the crowd of photographers behind the stanchions, who were taking photographs of all the people coming into the party. Lightbulbs flashed like strobes, freezing the couple’s every motion, letting every gesture and look hang in the air for just a moment longer than it should.

  It was all so disorienting, Ara thought. Old Minty would have been much better at this. It was harder than it looked.

  Ara stumbled in her high black stilettos, and Edon put his hand on her back. “Steady, now.” He smiled down at her and they let the photos flash.

  She scoped out the scene while they posed. “Jesus. Talk about a public event. Every Blue Blood in the city will be known by the time this is over. I hope the Regent knows what he’s doing.”

  Edon snorted. “Yeah, right. You know what they say. Brass rhymes with ass for a reason.”

  She tried not to smile. “Nobody says that.”

  “Sure they do.”

  She looked at him.

  He shrugged. “I say that.”

  They reached the end of the carpet and checked into the tables, pricking their fingers onto the blood identifiers that analyzed and matched their blood to the ones on record.

  A moment later, immense glass doors slid open and they were in.

  Edon kept a light hand on her back, and they walked through the party, nodding to acquaintances. No expense had been spared. The gala was the most decadent and lavish one she—or even the old Minty—had ever seen.

  As if the architecture of the museum wasn’t stunning enough—intersecting concrete panels and steel beams, all sleek lines and stark planes—two enormous white silk tents filled the courtyard between the wings of the museum, their hand-embroidered panels fluttering in the soft, damp wind of the early evening. Tiny lights twinkled in the upper eaves of the tents, which were themselves hung with thick clusters of night jasmine and hydrangea and lily. The white-linen-draped tables sparkled with delicately cut geometric crystals that reflected candlelight in every facet. Clearly, even the most minute details of the gala had been executed to perfection—every scent, every angle, every texture.

  Someone has an even shittier job than we do, thought Ara, determined to remain unimpressed. This was the side of the Coven—the swanky, snobby side—that had never appealed to her. The Venators worked in the darkness, but these angels were bathing in the light, as if it cast no shadows.

  “See him anywhere?” Edon asked.

  “No.” Ara bit her lip as she scanned the room, looking for the dark head of Kingsley Martin. She had seen something in the chief’s mind yesterday. She had thought he was protecting Kingsley, but Ara realized right then that it wasn’t that at all. Sam was anxious about Kingsley, and Ara thought she might have sensed something else along with the anxiety. A feeling she couldn’t decode. Dread? Whatever it was, the chief had mixed feelings about his friend.

  “You said you don’t think Kingsley did it,” she said. “That’s what you said yesterday. That you don’t think it’s him.”

  “I guess I don’t. No.”

  “The chief didn’t, either. But when I kept pressing him, he finally relented—almost like he was relieved that I was pressing my point.”

  “So?”

  Ara didn’t respond, as she was too busy studying the vampires and their dates, their human familiars, the small scars on their necks. She felt absently at her own, long and smooth, with no scars—and she blushed as she felt Edon’s eyes on her.

  “Don’t stop on my account,” he said with a wink.

  “Shut up. It’s just—”

  He looked at her more closely. “What?” he asked as a waiter came by with a tray of champagne flutes and another arrived with a tasty-looking selection of hors d’oeuvres.

  “Those dead girls weren’t in our files—which meant the vampire who killed them wasn’t in our Coven. At least that’s what we assumed.”

  “Uh-huh,” Edon said, grabbing a bacon-wrapped date off of one waiter’s tray and two glasses of champagne from the other.

  “But what if their killer was someone who had access to the blood records and was able to change them?” she asked as Edon handed her one of the glasses. She took a sip.

  “You’ve got a point there.”

  “Hold on, my phone’s ringing,” she said and answered it. She listened and nodded, growing pale. “That was the chief. Something’s up. The dead girls. Georgina and Ivy. They’re missing from the morgue.”

  “Missing? What the hell does that mean?”

  “They don’t know. Nobody saw anything and cameras didn’t catch anything, as usual. But they’re gone.”

  “Where’d they go?”

  “No one knows.”

  “Corpses don’t just get up and walk away,” Edon said. “At least not unless a witch has resurrected it.”

  But Ara had clocked their prey; the hunter in her smelled a new kill. “Forget it for now. Look who’s here.”

  Edon turned. It was Kingsley Martin all right.

  “Let’s go,” she said, reaching for her blades.

  “Damn it, we haven’t even taken prom pictures yet,” Edon said, sucking on a sticky finger.

  Together they made their way across the party, intent on getting their man.

  30 GOLDEN COUPLE

  THE RING WAS THE MOST pure diamond he had ever seen. It sparkled like ice, water captured in stone. Of course, it was no mere diamond, but a sacred firestone, forged in the white fires of Heaven to mark the eternal bond between Regis and Coven. The ring the former Regis, the archangel Michael himself, had worn. The Repository vault held many such treasures, but this was one of the Coven’s greatest heirlooms. And now it was his to bestow on his beloved as a sign of his devotion.

  Oliver put the ring back into its velvet box and put it in his pocket. “Ready, darling?” he called out.

  Finn walked out of her dressing room, and he had to take a step back. She was blindingly, heart-stoppingly beautiful, more beautiful than he had ever seen her. He was looking at her in awe, as if he had never seen her before.

  She was wearing a red dress, which plunged down to the navel and was slit up to the thigh. Her hair was pulled up, leaving her neck and shoulders bare, the expanse of her décolletage and her delicate collarbone almost too painful to bear.

  “How do I look?” she asked, giving a little spin. But her eyes were shining, and Oliver thought she might have been crying.

  “Ravishing beyond words,” he said, kissing her forehead. “You are the most precious thing in the world to me.” Seeing the look on her face, he frowned. “I know what you’re thinking, and there’s nothing we can do now,” he said. “But we’ll find her killer, I promise you.” He had heard the news about Ivy the other night, and while he was annoyed that Sam had sent his Venators to question Finn on her involvement, he understood the necessity.

  “It seems awful to celebrate when Ivy is dead,” she said.

  Oliver nodded. The fact that the second dead girl was so close to the Coven was unsettling. He had come close to calling off the party, but it was simply too late. The show must go on, as they say. And yet, he was on high alert tonight. A bundle of nerves, if he was honest. Because it was clearer and clearer by the moment—there was a killer in their Coven. And it was targeting mortals.

  Mortals like Finn.

  She flashed him a blinding smile, one that didn’t quite meet her eyes, and he paused for a moment. “What’s wrong?” he asked. He had caught her looking at him strangely, and it worried him.

  “Nothing, darling, I’m just a little scared, that’s all,” she said with a laugh that somehow sounded a little hollow to him.

  “Really?” he asked. “Don’t worry, I’ll k
eep you safe,” he said, flashing his fangs.

  The party was everything they wanted, everything they had planned. The Coven had turned out in its glory, and any doubts, any darkness, was hidden in the sound of the orchestra playing a jazzy tune, in the sound of laughter. The exhibit was a smash, the portraits of Allegra Van Alen were beautiful artifacts, and many in the Coven came up to him, to thank Oliver personally for commemorating their past. But even as wonderful as the party was, Oliver couldn’t help but feel that it was all a precursor to a gathering darkness. He wanted it over as soon as possible. To perform the ceremony and then leave for the comfort and safety of their home. Somehow, he had a feeling that the sooner it was over, the sooner it would end.

  “A toast to the happy couple,” Sam said, approaching with two champagne glasses.

  “This is good,” Finn said, after taking a sip.

  “You picked it,” Oliver reminded her.

  “No, actually this is a special bottle I’ve been saving for this occasion.” Sam smiled. “Congratulations. To new beginnings!”

  She nodded to Sam and gulped down the entire glass in one shot.

  “Easy there, pardner.” Oliver smiled. He sensed how anxious Finn was.

  “It’s the Four Hundred. Let’s celebrate!” Finn said with resolve. She spun away to talk to her guests, leaving Sam and Oliver together.

  “About that break-in,” said Sam. “We found out what’s missing.” His forehead crunched.

  “Tell me.”

  “I didn’t want to ruin this night but—We checked the vault and… Lucifer…”

  “His remains are gone,” Oliver said, guessing immediately. “Fuck me.”

  “A bunch of ashes. What can they do with it?” Sam shrugged. “We’ll get the Nephs.”

  Oliver nodded, keeping down the bile in his stomach. He just had to get through this night alive, and then he would deal with what Sam had told him.

  At midnight, the Coven gathered in the lobby of the museum for the investiture ceremony. Oliver walked to the altar that had been set up on the dais. It was a beautiful marble table, and there was a golden cup, the Holy Grail, another of the Repository’s treasures.

  Inside the cup was the blood of each vampire in the Coven. They had given their blood when they pricked their fingers on the security locks. The Venators had kept each and every drop, and it was now in the cup in front of him.

  The Sangre Azul.

  The living blood.

  The immortal blood.

  Oliver lifted the cup to his mouth and drank. In an instant, he was multitudes. He held the lives and the consciousness of every vampire in the world—he saw the face of the Almighty in the blood (the past, the present, the future); it was dizzying—heady—an overwhelming rush of power and strength—

  And then it was part of him.

  The Coven’s heart beat with his heart.

  “Your blood is my blood. My heart is your heart. My soul is your soul,” Oliver said, saying the words of the blood investiture.

  “I am the Regis.

  “I am the One and the Only. The Coven and the King. We are one and the same.”

  There were cheers, tears, roaring applause from the crowd. The Coven had survived the War, had survived Lucifer’s revenge, and now there was a new Regis to take them to the next century and beyond.

  Then the lights came back on.

  And it was time to party.

  Oliver politely ignored the swarms of people who wanted to congratulate him. He had one goal on his mind now. He made a beeline for Finn and, smiling, took her hand and led her back to the cozy greenroom where they had gotten ready.

  “Oliver, we need to get back to our guests,” she protested. “Let’s go, they’re waiting.” Her face was even paler than earlier, and he noticed the dark circles under her eyes. Something was wrong with her, but he was sure it was just exhaustion from the stress of the event. After the ball, he would make sure she got the rest she needed, and he was confident that this would cheer her up.

  “I just need a moment alone with you, Finn. Come in.” He drew her into the room and closed the door behind them.

  He fumbled with the box in his pocket, and even though he knew what her answer would be, he was still nervous. She made him nervous still. He didn’t deserve her. He would do anything to let her know how much he loved her for all the days of his life.

  “I have something for you,” he said and showed her the ring. He took a deep breath, more scared than he had been at the blood ceremony. This mattered most to him; it didn’t mean anything without Finn by his side. Without her support, her love, he would have nothing to live for. He had taken leadership of the Coven as part of an ingrained duty toward the vampires, a responsibility he carried as a loyal human Conduit. Only in Finn did he find an escape from the crushing burden and pressure of his position. Only in her did he find happiness and meaning to his life. As Sam noted, Oliver was lucky. Not everyone had what he had. He had Finn, and so he had everything.

  “Oh, Oliver,” she breathed, her hands fluttering.

  “I love you. Will you take me as your own?”

  “I already have.” She said softly. “But are you sure you want to do this?”

  Later, he would realize it was almost a warning. But for now, he touched her neck gently with the tips of his fingers, caressing her smooth alabaster skin; then he leaned down and kissed his favorite spot, his other hand curling into her hair. She pressed her body against his, and when he could not wait any longer, he plunged his fangs deep into her neck and drank her blood. She swooned against him, and he was delirious with love for her. Drinking her in, it was as if he had never tasted her blood before—it was sweeter, addictive, crazy making. He had noticed a difference about a month before… Her blood was different… It was even better…

  He was drinking so much of her, more than he ever had, and she murmured, “Hey now… leave some for me.”

  “I love you,” he said again. “I love you.”

  I am you. You are me.

  We are one. As I am now one with the Coven.

  Her blood…

  Her blood…

  Rich and pure and lovely…

  He drank her soul…

  Finn’s soul—a butterfly, a songbird, a flower—it was his; it was golden and beautiful and light, and he drank all of it… until he came to the very end…

  And in that end…

  In her soul…

  Right at the edge of its consciousness…

  Was a silver darkness…

  A darkness that laughed out loud when he finally stumbled upon it. A darkness that mocked his love and his joy. A darkness that reared up its head and grabbed him by the throat and sank its fangs into his skin, into his blood. And drank him instead.

  But no, it was Oliver who was still drinking, who held Finn’s neck in his fangs, and he was drinking poison and he couldn’t stop.

  Silver Poison.

  That was the last thing he remembered.

  After that, everything went black.

  31 FRIENDS IN NEED

  HER FOUR HUNDRED BALL was so much better, Mimi wanted to tell Kingsley, except he wasn’t next to her. He was somewhere in the shadows, hiding. They decided it was better for Kingsley to remain hidden for now, as no one in the Coven knew he was back from the underworld yet, and it was better to keep it that way. She walked alone through the crowd, letting the murmurs flutter around her.

  That’s right, take a good long look. The bitch is back.

  Mimi had decided to go the classic route and was delighted to find the dress she had worn to her first Four Hundred Ball was still in her storage closet. She’d had it aired out, dry-cleaned, and readied. The white dress made of the thinnest white silk satin fit as well as it had back then, and the keyhole opening at the hip was as sexy as ever. The white dress showed every curve of her body; when the light hit her, her form was shown in the blackened silhouette. She was covered but exposed, clothed but bare.

  Kingsley’s ey
es had almost fallen out of their sockets when he saw her in it. “Jesus, is that what you’re wearing? Where has that dress been in ten years?”

  She smirked and pinched his cheek. “Let’s go, put your tongue back in your mouth.”

  When they arrived she couldn’t help but notice that while the party was in full swing, there was a sense of anxiety running through the crowd. What were they all waiting for? The Regent, she supposed. They were nervous about the investiture. This was a big moment for the Coven. A new leader, a new king. But where was Oliver? She didn’t see him anywhere. He would probably be angry that Kingsley had kept this information from the Coven, but they would make him understand soon enough.

  Mimi took a glass of champagne from a passing tray. Just because they were working didn’t mean they didn’t get to have fun. They had arrived right in time to catch the blood ceremony, it seemed, as the crowd began to gather around the stage in the middle of the room.

  “I was wrong,” Chris Jackson said, noticing Mimi. “I thought for certain that something would happen at the ball, but it looks like I was wrong.” She looked relieved. “Long live the King.”

  Mimi nodded. “Nice brooch,” she said. “A gift from your brother?”

  Chris Jackson’s eyes watered and her face flushed. “As a matter of fact, yes. I know I should be ashamed of him, and I am. I’m more ashamed of what Forsyth did than you can imagine. But he was my brother. He was kind to me. And I miss him.”

  “I understand,” she said. “But I’m still glad he’s dead.”

  But at least it cleared up one suspicion. Chris Jackson was not the enemy.

  Oliver walked up to the altar, slipping out from a hidden room. He looked somber and grave, but powerful. Different. He was a vampire now, immortal like her. His hazel eyes glinted in the darkness, and Mimi approved of his new haircut. There was nothing boyish about him anymore. He had grown up; he was a man now, a vampire.

  He raised the cup to his lips.

  Drank the Coven’s blood.

  And it was done.