by Anne Malcom
I STARED DOWN AT MY phone, trying to use the power of my mind to make it stop ringing. And to make the person at the other end of the call spontaneously combust.
It didn’t stop, which disappointed me twofold; I had to answer, and my mother was still whole and unharmed.
“Mother,” I greeted, swirling in my chair to gaze at my view from my corner office. Sunset on Manhattan really was beautiful, but even my mother managed to fuck that up.
It had only been three days since the feast, which meant I shouldn’t have been due for another bout of torture for at least fifty years.
“You’ll meet your father and me at the Majestic at midnight,” her cultured and slightly accented voice snapped.
I’d spent the better part of four hundred years trying to get rid of mine, the only thing—other than blood, of course—that I had in common with my wretched family.
I succeeded, mostly. It crept out when I was really pissed off.
I took a deep breath, not because I needed to but because that’s what those zen humans did in order to stop murdering people.
“Good evening to you too. Hope you’re well and enjoying the wonderful city of New York,” I replied, knowing full well she hated the city and the country in general. Which was why it surprised me that she and father still remained. The king’s party had been days before. It didn’t mean good things for me or the general populace that they were sticking around. “And I wish I could meet you but I’m….” I searched for an excuse. “I just really don’t want to.”
There was a measured pause on her end. “You do remember your incentive to attend the feast, at which you insulted the king and embarrassed your family once again?” she asked in a tone that should have frozen my phone. “Well, that same incentive holds true now.”
I clenched my teeth. My fangs punctured my top lip, though I barely noticed. “There’s only so long such an incentive holds good for, Mother,” I gritted out. “I think four hundred years is long enough.”
“Well you surely could just ignore my request, see where that gets you.” She was well practiced at delivering a threat without moving from her smooth tone that could cut silver. “Majestic. Midnight.”
She hung up. I stared at my phone, then very calmly tossed it across the room with a force that shattered the picture frame it hit and the wall behind it, frame and phone tumbling to the ground in an echoing crash.
The steady background of human heartbeats rose slightly with the sound, and then the door to my office opened.
My assistant Ashton’s heartbeat stayed steady, as did his gaze as he regarded me and the shattered remains of a Warhol and my phone.
“Your mother?” he guessed.
I nodded once.
I didn’t make a habit of making friends with employees, especially those who were of the human persuasion. However, I didn’t detest Ashton nearly as much as the rest of the people working for me, so we occasionally indulged in a full-bodied red after work.
“I’ll get you a new phone and call up to get this mess taken care of,” he said calmly.
I nodded again.
“You need anything else? A Xanax? A hit man?” he asked.
I grinned. He knew of my relationship with my mother because he too had a nightmare who sired him. Growing up Mormon and gay wasn’t a breeze for him, especially when his fanatic mother locked him in cupboards for hours on end and bathed him in scalding water to ‘wash away the sin.’ The ribbons of scars underneath his silk shirt were reminders of that. I’d paid her a visit the previous year, the night after he told me that story, in fact.
He hadn’t seemed too broken up over her death.
“Oh I don’t need a hit man, but thanks for the offer. It’s really sweet.” I knew plenty of people who dealt in death—a hulking Scotsman came to mind—but killing one of the ancient families was a crime punishable by death. Even if it was your own. Loopholes were if a vampire openly disrespected your Vein Line, killed a human on your property, or spilled blood under your roof. Aristocracy was still rampant in a society that was as immortal and unchanging as the vampires that made up that society.
Ashton gave me a smile and then left me to my rage.
Another reason why I liked him—no small talk. I detested small talk.
I walked into the lobby to the Majestic at quarter past midnight. I may have not had a choice to attend, but my mother hated to be kept waiting and I had to take small pleasures where they came.
The lobby was bustling with vampires who came not just to stay at the exclusively undead hotel, but to see and be seen in the opulent bar that boasted the best blood this side of the Pacific. Humans whose diets ranged from all raw meat, to only certain kinds of fruit, to an overabundance of sugar. I knew they had some meth heads hidden in the back for those after a high. Of course, those humans would lower the tone of the snooty and historic hotel; it was only the beautiful and sober ones weaving through the tables, offering themselves up.
I knew they were paid handsomely and found the lifestyle exciting, but it didn’t mean I liked it. Secrecy was paramount, which meant any human who posed even the slightest risk of blabbing was eliminated. Those who ‘retired’ when they got too old, fat or anemic were either bespelled by the resident witch to forget their employ with the Majestic or drained at one of the less-opulent establishments that the hotel chain owned. No connections to such establishments existed on paper, of course.
“Ms. Rominskitoff, I’ll direct you to your table,” a vampire dressed in all black and sporting a severe bun and excellent bone structure addressed me. She smiled warmly and, kudos to her, didn’t blink at my outfit.
I gave her a look. “Must you, though?” I asked.
She gave me a quizzical look, then turned to glide through the oak tables scattering the high-ceilinged bar area to one of the private booths at the back, separated by a red velvet curtain.
Of course.
The hotel had existed since Manhattan had been birthed, and it’d been exclusive to vampires since the night it opened its doors. Witches were paid handsomely to maintain the cloaking spell that urged most humans to stay away. Though in the age of Yelp and Google Maps, that was proving harder.
The waitress pulled the curtain aside to reveal my scowling mother and stoic father.
“Can I get you anyone to drink?” she asked. “Our special tonight is a twenty-three-year-old female who has cacao and cinnamon undertones.”
“A vodka in a water glass filled right to the top will suffice,” I replied, savoring the slight curl to my mother’s lip as I ordered my uncouth drink.
The vampire inclined her head and then left us.
I sidled into the booth. “Mother, Father. A displeasure, as always.”
My mother tapped her fingers on the wooden table and narrowed her eyes in response. She really was classically beautiful, if you didn’t know what an evil bitch she was. Her hair was cut in a severe bob that brushed her chin, blood-red like mine. Her smooth face was pale and free of wrinkles with delicate features, like the Russian doll she was. She was the daughter of a tsar, after all. She looked little more than twenty-five but her soul, shriveled and blackened as it was, would betray her true age and nature if one were to cut her open.
My father was much the same, though he made the transition closer to thirty. His skin had a slight tan to it, black hair slicked back against his head, highlighting his harsh and angular features. He always dressed in a suit, no matter the occasion or the weather.
“Isla,” he greeted, only a fraction more cordial than my mother. He glanced at my attire, which I’d chosen specifically for the event. The tight tee tucked into my high-waisted leather pencil skirt read “I’m not weird, I’m a vampire.” I had pulled my hair into a messy ponytail and gone for a blood-red lip to match my fire engine-red thigh-high, heeled boots. It was hooker chic.
“Five hundred years old and your maturity level is that of a toddler,” he observed flatly.
I gratefully took the glass of
fered to me by the waitress, thankful at least for the quick service. “I resent that. I’m pretty sure maturity is when you really, really want to kill someone but then you don’t because it would be immature to do so in such well-regarded establishments.” I gave my mother a smile as I sipped my drink.
No response. Though if I weren’t mistaken, her eye twitched just slightly.
The silence yawned out between us, distaste and disappointment filling the air better than any words could have.
I glanced around the room, not perturbed in the slightest at the lack of conversation. I preferred it.
The night was still young, which meant the room wasn’t bursting with well-dressed vampires as it would be towards the early hours of the morning. It was more of the civilized sadists there at the moment. Businessmen conducting deals, high-ranking city officials of the fanged persuasion enjoying their nightly brew of warm blood while reading the New York Times.
I glanced back to my statuesque parents. “As much as I’m enjoying the riveting conversation, I’m sure you didn’t have me drag my ass all the way down here to spend time with your only daughter,” I said.
Mother pursed her lips. “You are correct. We don’t subject ourselves to this”—she waved her hand at me—“for no reason at all.”
I smiled at her. “Glad to hear it.”
She glanced around the room before laying her long-nailed hands on the table, one atop the other. Something flickered in her cold eyes, something I didn’t like at all. Something akin to satisfaction. Like that of a predator when they had their victim cornered.
“It’s coming up to your half century,” she began.
I clapped my hands. “You remembered,” I exclaimed. “Please tell me we’re planning my party. I want a pony.” You would be forgiven if you’d assume I was turning five years old, not five centuries young if you spent time with me. After the first few hundred years, wisdom was not something I’d gained. It was a reversal, in fact. I was Benjamin Button in my mind. Or I was slowly losing my sanity. But at least I was having fun.
Mother’s brows knitted together. “As it is, it’s past time for you to be playing around like some common street vampire, or a half breed.” She spat the insult like it dirtied her mouth. “We are losing patience with you, Isla.”
I sucked my drink back in one swallow. “Patience?” I repeated. “Is that what you call your continued threats and violence and various attempts to bring about my untimely end?” I asked, my voice flat.
“We are of Ambrogio’s Vein Line,” my mother hissed. “Noble blood. The blood of the vampire blessed by Artemis herself. The blood of gods run through our veins. You will not dirty that blood with your humanity. We will not allow that.”
I met her gaze. “And what are you going to do, Mother? Kill me right here, right now? Even you aren’t that bold. Or stupid, unfortunately.”
She glanced at my blank-faced and mute father. It was a familiar scene, Mother spitting her venom while Father sat there, silent and sentinel, the pulsating power from his age and strength daring me to go that little bit too far.
I always went a little bit too far, obviously.
“No. We shall not abandon our only daughter in such a way,” she said finally. “Our Vein Line must continue. Through both the paternal and maternal offspring.”
My blood ran cold. Or colder. I reasoned the waters in the Arctic would seem balmy compared to the ice in my veins.
My brothers were yet to marry and continue the line. I reasoned that they could never maintain a relationship with a woman long enough for her to carry a child to term. Even the mere four months it took for vampire women to cook a child in their oven. I had always assumed my family had reasoned my womb would be far too warm and accommodating to produce a vampire worthy of the Rominskitoff Vein Line.
My mother’s, on the other hand, was the perfect barren and icy environment to grow little sadist vampires like my brothers. I had just been an unfortunate freak of nature.
“You have already had one Awakening,” my mother continued. “And practiced your juvenile antics to ensure that we couldn’t utilize that.” The venom in her tone was still as fresh as when I’d finally emerged from my self-induced seclusion after my first Awakening two centuries back.
She’d been so furious she’d sicced both of my brothers on me and I’d barely gotten out undead.
I’d honestly been surprised at the depth of her fury. I’d disappeared the moment my rib cage had vibrated with the pulsing beat of my heart signifying my first Awakening, merely as a precaution. I thought it would be an off chance that my parents would try to get me impregnated with a Rominskitoff child that could work as my replacement.
Every female vampire had two Awakenings, the vampire version of puberty. When her heart started to beat again, her body turning… alive, for lack of a better word. Accommodating enough to conceive and carry a child to term. Male vampires were always able to and ready to father a child—don’t ask me how, since I flunked anatomy—but for one year, a female vampire was able to fulfill her duty to further the vampire race.
That had been the last thing I wanted to do. Plus, I’d known if I had birthed a child it would have been snatched from my cold, dead, headless body from my parents.
Not a fate I would bestow on any child, nor myself.
So I’d slipped off to the Caribbean and drank a lot, sunned a lot and stayed celibate for a year. Even human men could technically give me a little half-vampire baby at that point. I was not risking it.
Now it was coming up to my second Awakening and my mother’s words were a chilling realization that they planned on ensuring I didn’t head off to a beach this time.
She grinned at me, as if feeding off my revulsion and slight panic. “We will not let you disappear this time, Isla. You will finally rid yourself of this wretched and treasonous humanity. Or we will find a way to do it,” she informed me, voice pleasing—to an outsider, at least. To me, it was a snake slithering up my spine, constricting the bones with its brutal promise of destruction if I didn’t find a way to rip off its head.
I gripped the table so hard small cracks erupted in the marble. Yet I stayed silent, fearing if I spoke I would do something stupid like lunge at my mother. Such an action would not ensure my continued survival. And I needed that.
My father leaned forward slightly, eyeing me as if he half expected the attack. As if he’d welcome it. “You’ve had your fun, Isla,” he said, his voice smooth and accented. “But now you will serve your Vein Line. You will choose a partner before your Awakening. It does not need to be said that their Vein Line must have the Ichor of Ambrogio.” He paused. “If you do not, we will choose someone and guarantee, by any means necessary, that you produce a Rominskitoff heir.”
I met his cold eyes, and every single cell in my body seeped pure hatred and fury. “Rape, you mean,” I spat. “You noble members with the blood of gods will procure an equally noble vampire to rape me while my brothers hold me down.”
Mother pursed her lips and gathered her bag, standing. “You must always turn everything into a spectacle,” she hissed.
I laughed, long and cold. “A spectacle is what you’ll get if you even attempt to make good on your promise,” I threatened. “A fucking exhibition of just how far I’m willing to go to ensure you never rent out my womb to grow a child to replace the one you’re staring at right now.”
Every single word I uttered dripped with venom. With the death I’d rain down to make sure that never happened.
My father stood, his hand on my mother’s lower back as they exited the booth. So chivalrous.
His unfeeling eyes flickered to me. “You know this is inevitable, Isla. Better you learn to be more accommodating. Then this will be more pleasant for you.”
And then they left, slinking around the corner, to spread their venom all across the city.
I sank back into the plush seat as the couture-clad back of my mother disappeared. Fury simmered in my stomach, as was normal
with meeting my parents, but this particular occasion had me shaking with it. I seriously considered looking up a Scotsman, knowing he cared little about ancient laws and a lot about money. I had enough to pay for the assassination of my family ten times over, but I didn’t think it would go without a hitch. My mother and my brothers were snakes; she would expect me to lash out and would therefore have a trap ready for me to walk into.
So I had to have something I was not known for—patience.
I couldn’t run either. It would be exactly what they’d expect. The odds were stacked against me, but there was a time to cut the apron strings. Right about the time my parents promised to get me raped in order to impregnate me. Yep. Right about then.
I gestured to the waitresses who hovered close by. We were the Rominskitoffs; giving us bad service was tantamount to suicide.
“I’ll take that cacao special after all”
She nodded. “Right away.”
Every girl needed chocolate after a particularly testing evening.
I had to find some form of calm in order to produce a rational plan. Letting the evening eat up every part of me was not the way to win. I had to play the long game. My Awakening was years off, precisely why my parents had chosen now to make their move. To rattle me.
I was not easily rattled.
And they’d just made their biggest mistake.
Underestimating me.
That was going to be fatal to the entire fucking Rominskitoff Vein Line.
After I’d sated my tastes and managed to somewhat swallow my rage, I emerged from the curtain to run into the last person I expected, yet wanted, to see.
“Isla.” His voice ran over my name in a throaty caress.
“Your Highness.” I addressed him with his honorary title but didn’t bow. I’d only likely do that if I had a severed spine. This had the stick-thin, gorgeous vampire beside him sucking on her lips in distaste. Though maybe it was just my general presence. We had history.
The monarch didn’t address this slight and if I wasn’t mistaken, amusement danced in his eyes. It increased as his gaze flickered down to my chest. “It’s most pleasant to see you again, in the midst of….” He glanced at his consort for the night. The king was a notorious lothario, never seen with the same vampire twice. The current one was decidedly forgettable, another beautiful, pinched-face vampire dripping in couture and diamonds. “More of the same.”