The Vampire's Heir

by Ellery St. James

  “What pasta do you normally like to eat?” he asked.

  “Well.” I thought about it. “I like spaghetti-Os.”

  Khalil chuckled, but it was not unkind. “Let’s order a variety of dishes, and you can see what you like best.”

  The server appeared again like magic, and Khalil spoke to him while I sipped my drink and glanced around. Only a few other patrons were dining near us. They all had an air of wealth about them. A kind of careless confidence drenched in sophistication. I’d felt underdressed when we’d entered, but half of the people here were wearing clothing as ratty as mine. The other half were dressed like what I would imagine rich people dressed like—tasteful diamonds, expensive-looking watches, high-quality fabrics with subtle cuts, perfectly tailored.

  “How are you feeling?” Khalil asked me.

  “Nervous,” I confessed. I locked eyes with him. “What can you tell me about Victor?”

  The place between Khalil’s eyebrows smoothed. He sat back. “I think Victor should tell you about himself and his past, Miss Alexandria.”

  “Can I trust him?”

  “He means what he says about adopting you,” Khalil said. “Mr. Branaugh is an eccentric man, and he does odd things. He is… well, he is many things. But he is not a liar.”

  “This is just all so crazy,” I said. I picked up a piece of the bread that the server had brought us and nibbled on it. It had a soft center and a hard, chewy crust. Khalil told me it was called la ciambella. “I don’t even know what to think, Khalil. This is so strange. All of it.”

  “I imagine so.” Khalil watched me eat, but did not eat any bread himself.

  “How long have you worked for him?”

  Khalil’s lips twitched in a smile, as if at a private joke. “A long time, Miss Alexandria.”

  The food arrived, and none of it was recognizable to me, but it all smelled like heaven. Khalil told me what each thing was as I sampled bites from each. Strangozzi al tartufo nero, with black truffle mushrooms that looked like charred marshmallows to me. Linguine all’aragosta o all’astice, with lobster tails on top of the steaming pasta. A meat dish called osso bucco that made me close my eyes in ecstasy.

  When I’d eaten all that I could, and I felt sick at the thought of taking another bite, Khalil stood.

  “Shall we continue on to the shopping, Miss Alexandria?”

  I never even saw him pay. We whisked back outside, where the car was waiting. Once inside, I was again enveloped in the smell of spice and the soft, ambient sounds of the music. The interior of the car was the perfect temperature. My stomach was full, and the taste of the food still lingered in my memory and on my tongue. I had, quite possibly, never been so physically comfortable in my life.

  I was beginning to relax, but only slightly. So far, nothing terrible had happened.

  My phone buzzed. I pulled it out and saw a text from Brandy.

  Should I call the cops yet?

  I sent a return text.

  No. So far, we just went to eat at a fancy restaurant. We’re going dress shopping now. So far, so good.

  Her reply:

  What restaurant?

  I told her, and she replied with a link to an article about how L’atmosfera was one of the most exclusive and lauded places to eat in the city, along with a string of exclamation marks. Brandy was a foodie, and knew about these things.

  I can’t believe you ate at L’atmosfera. And you didn’t even have to wait on a list for six months. An ice cube costs like, $60.

  Khalil was watching me in the rearview mirror again.

  “Just reading an article about L’atmosfera,” I said, putting the phone back in my pocket. “And how it’s pretty much impossible to get a table there.”

  He turned down the music. “Mr. Branaugh has a great deal of clout with such establishments.”

  The car pulled into a parking garage before we could continue the conversation. I was nervous again. Again, Khalil didn’t park the car, but turned it over to a valet and escorted me inside.

  The dress store was white walls and skylights. White accents, like antlers on the walls and a marble fireplace, adorned various places in the room. Everything blended together seamlessly, everything was white, as if we were inside a cloud. By contrast, the dresses stood out like brilliant flowers. They were every color of the spectrum, and most of them were covered in flashing crystal or pearl.

  “Wow,” I said, running my eye over a sign that declared that FITTINGS WERE BY APPOINTMENT ONLY. “Where do I start?”

  My pocket buzzed. I pulled out the phone, expecting a text from Brandy, but it was one from Victor.

  Please select a dress in white with a high neckline. The occasion is black tie. Miranda will assist you.

  “White,” I said, lifting my eyes to the racks again. A shiver ran over me at the oddly specific request. “Why white?”

  Khalil, watching me, tipped his head. “Have you ever heard of a debutante ball?”

  “Kind of.” That certainly wasn’t something I’d have ever experienced, but I’d seen one in a TV show. “Like a coming-out party?” I guessed, trying to remember.

  “Exactly like that,” Khalil said.

  The thought of white made me feel a bit like a bride. Which was creepy. I was not marrying Victor. I wasn’t being paraded before any other suitor either. “And who is Miranda?”

  A woman appeared from nowhere as if summoned like a genie. “Hello,” she said, her voice low and musical. “My name is Miranda. If you follow me, I have a room where you can try on your selections.”

  She led me through the store to a small room with gold foil wallpaper and a series of full-length mirrors. A plush couch lined one wall, and a teal coffee table held an ice bucket, sodas, and a tray of gourmet pastries and cookies. A curtain hung over the doorway.

  “Please,” Miranda said. “Allow me to select a few things for you to try first. I have already received a list of Mr. Branaugh’s suggestions.”

  I nodded, and she disappeared through the curtain. I snagged a macaroon and nibbled on it while I texted Brandy again.

  Still alive.

  I sent her a picture of the tray of treats.

  I’m jealous was her response. Then: Stay safe. And keep texting me. This is getting interesting.

  Miranda returned with an armful of white dresses encased in plastic. She hung them on a row of hooks beside the curtain and held up one for my perusal.

  “This would look beautiful with your complexion,” she said.

  The dress was more ivory than white, with a high neck covered in pearls that descended into a ruffled, tiered skirt that was not quite a mermaid cut.

  “I don’t really like it,” I said. Could I say that?

  Miranda’s eyebrows twitched, but she only held up another dress. “Here we have a more classic look, with clean lines all the way down.”

  I liked that dress better, but I didn’t want to play this weird game where I wore white and felt like a bride being led before a crowd.

  I had a different idea.

  “I’d like to pick out my own dresses,” I said.

  And before she could respond, I pushed back the curtain and went into the main room.

  Khalil sat on a couch near a wall of mirrors, his eyes on a device in his hand that might have been a phone. He looked up as I approached.

  “I’m picking my own dress,” I said.

  He nodded, a smile flickering around the corners of his mouth. “Yes, Miss Alexandria.”

  I marched right past a rack of white dresses, straight for the color. I stopped and pulled out a red gown with a plunging neckline.

  If Victor wanted to adopt me, then he needed to know what kind of a person I was. And I was not the kind of person who took weird and slightly controlling orders without protest.

  My fingers stilled on a strapless dress of blue-black silk.

  “This one,” I said to Miranda, who’d just appeared behind me with a frazzled expression. “I want to try this one.”
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  “It isn’t white,” she protested. “And the neckline—”

  “Those were his suggestions,” I said, cutting her off with a too-sweet smile and a wave of my hand. “And I considered them. But I’m going to do something else.”

  The dress fit me like a glove. I stared at my reflection as something akin to rebellion filled me.

  I was going to wear this dress to his fancy party. His “suggestions” be damned.

  I walked into the main area and found Khalil looking at his phone. He looked up at my entrance and slowly laid the device down on the couch beside him. His eyebrows lifted.

  “That,” he said, clasping his hands together, “is neither white nor high-necked.”

  “Nope,” I said, giving him a twirl.

  The faintest hint of a frown creased his features. “Mr. Branaugh does not like to be disregarded,” he said, as if in warning. I got the sense that he didn’t want me to be mistaken about what I was doing.

  “Well, I don’t like to be given orders.” I looked around me for Miranda. “I want this one,” I told her firmly.

  I got the dress.

  CHAPTER FIVE

  AFTER WE LEFT the dress store with my newly-purchased gown enclosed in a cape of plastic, Khalil drove me to a salon, another impossibly fancy place with glossy black marble floors and fountains everywhere. A man with bright blue hair buzzed on one side and long and swooping on the other, who introduced himself as Anthony, whisked me to a chair and looked me over, then sent me to an assistant who washed my hair and massaged my scalp. When I was finished, Anthony sat me in front of a glowing mirror, and I studied my face in the soft light while he ran a comb through my dripping ends.

  “Just a quick trim,” he said, snipping here and there. “Girl, you have gorgeous hair. Nice and long. I’m thinking you should wear it up tonight. What color is your dress, hon?”

  I described it to him, explaining that I was going for unconventional, and he made appreciative noises. “Obviously I’m a fan of blue and unconventional,” he said, snagging one of his dyed locks with his fingers and shaking it. “It’s inspired by my favorite TV show, Infinity Zero.”

  “What? No way,” I said, and pulled open my jacket to show him my t-shirt.

  Anthony made a sound almost like a squeal. “Girl! Yaaas! Who is your favorite character? Obviously, mine is Queen Nedana.” He gestured to his blue hair, and now I saw that he was going for her Season 2 look.

  “Rory Starkiller,” I said. She was the girl in the show who’d been stolen away as a baby from the royal family and raised to be a warrior against the backdrop of the galaxy.

  “And do you ship her with Achilles or Ryker?” Anthony asked.

  “Actually,” I said, “I ship her with Gale.”

  “Gale?” His eyebrows drew together, and his lips parted. I could see he’d never thought of them as a couple before—most people didn’t, since Gale was one of the show’s biggest villains—but the story wasn’t over yet. “Oh girl, you just blew my mind.”

  “You should check out their fanfiction,” I added.

  He laughed. “I will!”

  He paused, then leaned in over me to gaze at my reflection.

  “Speaking of Rory Starkiller, I’ve got an idea,” he said.

  “Tell me,” I said, smiling.

  After describing his vision for me, Anthony set to work. He blow-dried my hair, working it over a round comb until it was silky-smooth and gently flowing down my back like a waterfall of chocolate. Then, he added the dark blue extensions, using a straightener to attach the glue beads close to my scalp.

  “This is going to add a subtle pop of color,” he said. “You’re going to look absolutely stunning, honey.”

  When he’d finished putting in the dark blue extensions, Anthony worked my hair into a complicated crown of braids that wrapped around my head in coils and twists. He added a few pins with glittering teardrop-shaped gemstones on the ends, and they glittered like stars among the dark coils of my hair. The look was reminiscent of Rory Starkiller’s signature look, but in a way only a fan would notice. It was amazing.

  “Perfection,” he said when he’d finished, and stepped back to admire me. “What do you think?”

  “I love it,” I said. “Thank you. It looks incredible.”

  “Now,” Anthony said, “My friend Carly is going to do your makeup over there. Good luck with tonight, honey.”

  “Don’t forget to check out that fanfiction,” I said as I rose.

  “I won’t.” He laughed.

  Carly was tiny and Korean-American. She applied makeup to my face like a master painter, and the brushes and tints were cool against my skin. She was quiet but still exuded an aura of friendliness. When she’d finished, she turned my chair around, and I blinked in surprise at my reflection. “Wow.”

  I barely recognized my face, but in a good way. Everything looked like a better version of myself, the version of me that was a star of a movie or a TV show. My skin tone was even. My eyes looked bigger, somehow, and my lashes were luxuriously long. She’d made my skin seem glowing and healthy, and I actually looked rested for once.

  “What do you think?” Carly asked with a faint smile.

  “It looks wonderful,” I said, turning my head from side to side to see the full effect. “Thank you.”

  Khalil came to collect me, and I thanked Anthony and Carly once again before he led me outside to the vehicle. It was late afternoon now. The party would be soon.

  My insides clenched with sudden nervousness.

  “What time is the event?” I asked Khalil as we climbed into the car.

  “Seven o’clock,” he said. “A few hours away. Are you hungry?”

  I didn’t think I was, being as nervous as I was, but as soon as he asked, my stomach growled.

  “Can we maybe get a burger?” I asked.

  “Burgers it is,” he said, and steered us toward a fast food place.

  “Order whatever you want,” he said.

  Looking at the sign and knowing I could get anything, not just something from the dollar menu, was a luxury as great as the others I’d experienced. This was a piece of familiarity, but instead of the guilt I normally felt over spending money we didn’t have on fast food, I could simply pick what I wanted to eat. I ordered a cheeseburger, fries, fried cheese sticks, a fruit smoothie, and a milkshake with chunks of pie in it. Just because I could. Khalil grinned at me in the rearview mirror.

  “Want some?” I asked when he handed it back.

  “No thanks.”

  I ate the cheeseburger, alternating with the milkshake, which I ate with a spoon to get the pie chunks. After that, I worked on the cheese sticks, dipping them into the milkshake. It was all fried, fatty, sweet goodness.

  The car went through a gate and into a parking lot. It looked like a fancy apartment complex. Columns crawling with ivy, a fountain at the gate. The parking lot wasn’t paved with asphalt, but with bricks.

  “Where are we?”

  Was this the party? I wasn’t in my dress yet.

  “This is one of Mr. Branaugh’s properties,” Khalil replied. “He isn’t here. This is just for your personal use to get ready.”

  One of. I swallowed hard. The guy probably had more properties than I had shoes. Not that that should come as too much of a surprise, considering the day of pampering I’d just had. But still, hearing it sent a jolt of something both thrilling and terrifying through me.

  The apartment was on the third floor, with a private elevator. Khalil carried my dress in its bag as he led the way. The elevator opened onto a long, white hall with a marble floor and skylights that let in the afternoon sunlight. The door at the end of the hall was a rich mahogany color. We passed through it and into the apartment itself.

  It was big. High ceilings, glossy wooden floors, Corinthian columns, and tray ceilings. The light fixtures were all modern and sleek, some of them shaped like pendulums, some of them looking like metal dandelions and shrapnel explosions. There was n
o furniture at all, and our footsteps echoed through the space as we walked.

  Something about the lack of furniture made me suddenly nervous. I turned around to look at Khalil, half expecting him to be holding a gun on me, but he was only checking his phone again.

  “The master bedroom, master bathroom, and two additional bedrooms are located through there,” he said, nodding at a hallway that branched away from the main room. “I am sorry there is no furniture. This apartment isn’t furnished yet. If you accept Mr. Branaugh’s offer, you will live here, and you can furnish it to your tastes. There is also a pool, a lounge, and a gym,” he added. “You would have access to all of those things, if you were interested.”

  “Oh,” I said, looking around again with fresh eyes. What would it be like to live in this fresh, cavernous place? What would it be like to have daily access to a pool, a gym? I wasn’t sure what I could do in the lounge, being underage, but that was cool too, I supposed.

  Khalil handed me the bag with my dress. “You’ll find the bathroom stocked with whatever you might still require to feel ready for tonight.” He paused. “I went to the toiletry aisle and bought one of everything this morning. Hopefully, nothing is missing.”

  I took the dress, feeling a bit dazed. “I’m sure you were very thorough.”

  The bathroom was the size of a normal apartment. Skylights in the vaulted ceiling let in more sunlight. A tub as big as a car sat in the center of the room. The shower in the corner was surrounded by misted glass and had a gazillion knobs and faucets. All the fixtures were gold.

  On the counter sat enough products to fill a beauty salon. Dozens of brands of deodorant. Cotton balls, cotton swabs, soaps, body wipes, face wipes, perfumes, and cleansers. Lotion. Body spray. Toothpaste, toothbrushes, mouthwash, and more. I took a picture and sent it to Brandy.

  Want some deodorant?

  She texted back:

  WTF? Where are you now?

  I replied:

  One of his apartments. The driver didn’t know what to get, so he got everything.

  I picked a deodorant and then used the body wipes to freshen up. I rubbed lotion all over myself. Perfume seemed a bit much—I wasn’t used to being so drenched in scent—but I spritzed a squirt of body spray on my wrist.