The Vampire's Heir

by Ellery St. James

“It is peaceful,” I agreed. And I did like it. There was something delightfully unfussy about this place. It was as opposite Victor and his world as I could imagine. “How’d you find this place?”

  “Oh,” Khalil said. “I just stumbled across it.”

  My left coat pocket vibrated. That was Victor’s phone. I pulled it out and checked the screen. The text was from Brandy.

  Girl, how are you today?

  I was composing a text to her when our food arrived. Frankie shuffled out, plates balanced on her forearms. She laid them down in front of us with practiced ease and then produced syrup, salt, pepper, and butter packets from her pocket.

  “I’ll be back with your coffee,” she added.

  The waffles and eggs were perfection. They were, as Frankie had boasted, the best in the city. At least, they were the best I’d ever tasted.

  I watched Khalil eat his, and I was curious. But when he caught my gaze, I only smiled and said, “Delicious.”

  He nodded and speared another bite with his fork. “Frankie has a gift with food. The eggs come from her chickens too.”

  We ate a while in silence, and then Khalil asked, “Are you all right at home? Are you safe?”

  I laughed under my breath. “Relatively, yeah.”

  He waited for me to elaborate.

  “My mom has a lot of friends who… aren’t great. But my biggest concern is my sister, Lucy.”

  Khalil leaned forward, his expression sincere. “Tell me about Lucy.”

  “She has some disabilities,” I explained. “She needs ongoing, intensive therapy, but it’s expensive. That’s why…” I paused, wondering if I should talk to him about what Victor had offered me, about the financial motivations I had. He was on Victor’s side, right? Would he judge me for my crass reasons for essentially stringing his employer along?

  “I understand,” Khalil said. And then, “You must love your sister very much.”

  “Of course,” I said. “I work my ass off to earn what I can at the bookstore, and I stay up late researching treatments. I might’ve left already—my mom, I mean—but there’s Lucy. I’d do anything for her. Anything.” I said it fiercely, so he knew I wasn’t exaggerating, and I held his gaze.

  Khalil nodded. “I see.”

  I sat back. “She’s sick a lot. And we can’t afford most of the things that would help her. We have Medicaid, and that pays for some things, but… there are all these newer and more experimental therapies and treatments that I want her to get.”

  “And you think if you…” He didn’t finish that thought, but I understood.

  “Yeah,” I said.

  Khalil looked away and then back at me. “Not everyone would show such devotion to a sibling.”

  “Well, I do.”

  “Lucy is a blessed child,” he murmured.

  When we’d finished, Khalil stood. He pulled out his wallet and plucked a few dollar bills from the fold. When Frankie returned, he slipped them into her hand.

  “I don’t want your money,” Frankie protested. “For you, the food is always free.”

  “Take it,” Khalil insisted.

  Frankie took the money, grumbling. She looked at me, and her eyebrows pinched together. “You’re always welcome here, honey,” she said. And then, after a pause, as if she were debating whether or not to continue, she added, “Take care of yourself.”

  A tingle ran through me. Did she know what Victor was?

  But then she was bustling back into the gas station, and Khalil was escorting me back to the SUV, and my thoughts were swallowed by new ones, apprehensive musings about the day ahead of me, and my mission for Trace.

  As I was thinking of Trace and the mysterious mission that lay ahead of me, my phone from him buzzed in my pocket, sending a spike of adrenaline through my body. I didn’t dare try to look at it now. I’d check it as soon as I had the opportunity, though.

  I expected us to head to the store, but instead, Khalil took me straight to the apartment with no furniture and the white, airy bathroom.

  “Mr. Branaugh ordered some dresses for your perusal here,” Khalil explained as he opened the car door for me.

  I remembered Trace’s admonishment that they might be watching me more closely today and nodded.

  Two huge rolling racks of dresses greeted us when we entered the apartment, accompanied by two women. One I recognized from the store yesterday, Miranda, and the other introduced herself as a seamstress.

  “Mr. Branaugh selected these dresses himself,” Khalil told me. “He based the sizes on yesterday’s gown, but the seamstress is here in case any alterations are needed.”

  As I gazed at the rack, a knock came at the door behind us, and two men staggered inside with a teal couch of crushed velvet. They positioned it in the middle of the room and exited, returning with two matching chairs.

  “Something to sit on,” Khalil said.

  “I haven’t given him my answer yet,” I protested, wondering if Victor thought I was ready to move in or something. “He shouldn’t waste money on all this stuff yet.” I ran my fingers over the back of the couch. It felt smooth as butter and soft as a kitten’s butt. It was probably prohibitively expensive.

  Khalil smiled at me. “Don’t spend another moment worrying about it. Mr. Branaugh had simply not considered it yesterday, but I told him that we had nowhere to sit, and he ordered them immediately. The cost is no concern.”

  I wondered what it was like to order a couch like this as easily as other people ordered cheap pizza. The thought that I could find out, if I only said yes to Victor, filled me with curiosity and wonder—and disbelief. And a little bit of terror, because who doesn’t want that kind of power, no matter what it might cost?

  The movers returned a final time, carrying a mirror as tall as me. They propped it against the wall near the fireplace and departed.

  “Shall I show you the dresses?” Miranda asked, indicating the rack with a wave of her hand.

  I exhaled.

  “Show me the dresses.”

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  THE DRESSES VICTOR had selected for me were all cream or silvery-white or blush pink, I noted wryly. My little act of defiance yesterday in wearing an unapproved color had been circumvented.

  The woman presented each dress to me, and I recalled again that I would need pockets per Trace’s instruction.

  Only one dress had pockets, it turned out. A rosy pink gown with a mermaid silhouette and long sleeves, sheer until they reached the wrists, where they grew opaque and lacy. I retreated to the bathroom to try it on—and to read and respond to Trace’s last message.

  I read his instructions three times and reviewed them in my head. What he needed me to do at the party sounded simple enough—but still terrifying.

  For Lucy, I reminded myself. I was doing this for Lucy. I could do anything for Lucy, and I would.

  I turned to the dress and picked it up. It was heavy like a female warrior’s leather armor, but somehow, it was still soft as a cloud. I slipped it on and gaped at my reflection. The skirt at the knees was a mixture of gauzy, layered chiffon and intricate, golden lace, beautiful and dreamy, but the rest of the dress fit me like a glove and accentuated every curve from my butt to my boobs. The neckline was high, with a choker-style collar of beaded lace, but there was a triangular cutout across the chest, showing a dangerous amount of cleavage.

  I frowned at the mirror. I looked sexy. Was it a bad idea to show skin in front of a bunch of vampires?

  It seemed like a bad idea.

  I pulled out my phone and texted Trace. I decided to be blunt.

  Only available dress with pockets is kind of sexy. Is that a dangerous idea? Because vampires. And should I be laying low?

  I snapped a picture of myself in the mirror and texted it to him, and immediately blushed at what I’d done. I’d just sent a hot guy I barely knew a picture of myself in a sexy dress and asked him what he thought. Would he think I was trying to seduce him or something? But I pushed the thought away.
It was an important question, and I wasn’t trying to hit on him.

  My phone buzzed, and I checked it nervously.

  Trace’s reply was quick and professional, thank goodness.

  You will be fine. Vampire modesty is about exposed necks and wrists, and rich, blood-like colors like red, purple, and blue. This dress is actually very conservative by their standards.

  I winced. I must have seemed like I was trying to be food on a platter last night in my strapless, dark blue, but otherwise demure gown. No wonder Victor had hand-picked my dresses for tonight, after I was almost attacked. Not that what a person was wearing ever excused or justified an assault, but I had a feeling that vampires weren’t exactly hung up on matters like consent and mutual respect for partners.

  I returned to the main room with the dress over my arm. I wasn’t interested in making this a Say Yes to the Dress kind of ordeal. I just wanted to get it over with. The dresses were beautiful, but my stomach was in knots in anticipation for the night ahead, and I was worried I might somehow reveal to Khalil that I was wise to their trick with the Lethe. “I want this one,” I said, holding out the gown.

  “Don’t you want to try on any of the others?” the woman asked, indicating the rank.

  “This one is fine, thanks,” I said.

  “The seamstress ought to—”

  “It fits like a glove.” I paused, and added in a gushing tone, “I love it. It’s totally my dress, you know?”

  That final sentence seemed to convince her that I was taking the process seriously enough. She nodded and hung the dress on a hanger before encasing it in protective plastic. “Would you like to see your shoe, jewelry, and glove options now, or after the food arrives?”

  “Glove options?” I said, confused. What the heck was she talking about?

  “This party,” Khalil explained from where he sat on the velvet couch, “is black tie to the extreme. There will be,” he paused, “men in cravats. And some in hose, I suspect.”

  “And the gloves?” I asked.

  “Mr. Branaugh,” Khalil said, “prefers himself and his guests to wear gloves to such formal occasions, especially this one.”

  Maybe vampires, like my parents, never quite managed to shake their fashion sense from the time that they grew up. And maybe that time happened to be the 1700s. Or the 1300s.

  I felt dizzy at the thought. But Khalil was watching me as if looking for something, some glimmer of understanding, perhaps, and so I played dumb.

  “I don’t think I’ve ever seen a man in a cravat,” I said. “Except maybe in a historical TV show. Is it a costume party?”

  “In a way,” he said after considering the question. “In a way, yes.”

  A silence ensued. I cast about for something to say.

  “Did someone mention food?”

  ~

  Khalil had ordered us a feast. Indian food, Thai food, and Italian arrived, all packaged up in boxes and stiff paper bags in a way that suggested they came from fancy restaurants, the kind that required reservations a month in advance. He spread the dishes across the marble countertop of the kitchen, and I filled my plate with delicious mounds of rice and noodles, the sauces melting together at the edges. It was a cacophony of tastes, and it seemed like an absolute extravagance after the moldy lemon of this morning’s empty fridge. While I ate, the woman from the shop laid out the accessories I was to consider for the gala. She had a series of special tables that she spread them across, displayed against a velvet backdrop.

  The jewelry looked like diamonds. The gloves were fine, pale beige silk, and they were the kind that ended at the wrist. The shoes were mostly low-heeled, but I focused on the one pair of pearl-studded flats that looked like I could run in them if need be.

  I certainly didn’t want to prance into a party full of vampires wearing six-inch heels. That sounded like something out of a horror movie. I’d rather wear running shoes, but the flats would have to do.

  “A beautiful choice,” the woman cooed at me when I picked them up and tried them on.

  My accessories chosen, I took a second plate of food and escaped to the giant bathroom, which had become my sanctuary for the weirdness of my situation. I sat on the edge of the tub and texted Brandy a picture of the dress.

  Brandy’s response:

  Daaaaaaaaaaaaaaamn, girl! You look fine! Another party tonight? What is this guy, a movie mogul or something?

  I wished I could tell her I’d sent it to a really hot guy to ask if it was too sexy, so she could tell me I probably hadn’t embarrassed myself as badly as I thought. But I couldn’t tell Brandy about the vampires. She already knew a lot just knowing that I was being considered for adoption by Victor. I didn’t want to get her into any trouble. Who knew what they did to humans who knew about them.

  That was another thing to ask Trace when I got the chance. I needed to know that Lucy would be safe.

  After this party was over and I got the money from Trace for Lucy’s treatments, I was getting out of this. I was saying goodbye to vampires and their glittery, alluring, absurdly wealthy lives. I’d have to find something tonight to use as my reason to reject Victor’s offer. And I needed to ensure that he didn’t suspect I knew he was a vampire, because, well, I figured he’d kill me if that were the case. Vampires like Victor undoubtedly didn’t like loose ends.

  The thought of my life being in danger from this elaborate situation I’d found myself in made me feel like a fly caught in the center of a diamond-studded web. For a moment, I was speechless with despair.

  A knock came at the door.

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  I OPENED THE bathroom door and saw Khalil standing in the hall, his arms clasped behind his back, his expression respectfully inquisitive.

  “The others have gone,” he said. “Are you all right? You’ve been in here for a while.”

  His quiet concern, even if he was an evil vampire, flooded my eyes with tears. I rapidly blinked them away. “You aren’t supposed to point out that someone’s been in a bathroom for a long time, Khalil,” I tried to tease. Keep it lighthearted.

  He looked abashed for a split second. “I have to confess that I have exceptional hearing, and I could tell from the sound of your phone receiving text messages that you were sitting on the edge of the tub the entire time. I knew I wouldn’t be disturbing you.”

  “You were listening?” I stared at him, feeling a little violated and a little angry.

  “I’m sorry,” he said, and he looked contrite. “I am trying to make sure you are okay—you seemed woozy last night—and that you are safe. I could hear, but I wasn’t listening.”

  “Can you hear if I turn on all the faucets?” I demanded.

  “No,” he said.

  I stalked past him for the living room. So, the vampires had super-hearing too. Perfect. And gross. He probably also had a super-sense of sight, and smell, and—

  I stopped. Took a deep breath. Blinked at the ceiling as I felt the urge to cry.

  “Miss Alex—”

  “I’m scared about tonight,” I said quickly, because I didn’t want him guessing the real root of my fears. And it was true—I was pretty apprehensive about the gala, and whatever Trace was going to ask me to do. “I’m a kid from a broken home, with an abusive addict for a mom. I don’t know anything about fancy galas. I don’t know anything about anything. I’m nothing compared to these people. I’m going to embarrass myself and make Victor mad.”

  “Do you really think that?” Khalil asked with quiet intensity, leaning in the doorway and crossing his arms. “Do you really think you’re nothing compared to these people?”

  “Well, I guess not,” I admitted. “But I feel kind of shitty right now anyway.”

  Khalil tipped his head to one side as if thinking. He studied me, then sighed.

  “I am from the middle east,” he said. “My father was a farmer who herded sheep. We walked to school. My family did not own a car. My father could not read, and he was poor as dirt. But he was twice
the man that any of these rich bastards you’ll meet tonight could ever wish to be.”

  I was startled by the vehemence in his voice.

  “You love your sister,” he said. “You work hard to take care of her. Most of the people at the gala tonight have never loved anything as much as you love her. You shouldn’t consider yourself nothing. That is a travesty. You should measure your wealth by your heart, not your bank account.”

  “That’s all well and good to say when you have money,” I shot back, but his words had warmed me anyway.

  “Hold your head high,” he said. “You are a person of great fortitude and worth, Miss Alex.”

  A knock came at the door. It was the makeup artist and hairdresser—different ones than from the day before. They quickly got me settled on the couch and began to work on my hair and beautify my face. I sat quietly, wondering if this was more oversight from Victor.

  When they were finished, they steered me to the full-length mirror to see their handiwork.

  The hairstylist had styled my hair loose and flowing, with curls interwoven with tiny braids. She’d woven pearls among the braids, and finished with a rose above my left ear. My makeup was bold, with smoky eyes and dramatic false eyelashes. I looked like a movie star version of myself.

  I retreated to the bathroom to put on the dress, slipped both phones into the pockets along with a wickedly sharp pair of hair-cutting scissors I’d stolen from the hairstylist’s things, and a chopstick from the food Khalil had ordered. Between the scissors and the “wooden stake,” maybe I would have a chance of defending myself if need be.

  Then, I stood for a moment staring at myself in the mirror again. I barely recognized the girl looking back at me. She looked like a princess. Maybe she was brave enough to be a spy among vampires.

  I took a deep breath and exhaled.

  I could do this. For Lucy.

  Khalil was waiting for me when I returned to the great room. A smile softened his mouth when he saw me.

  “You look lovely,” he said.

  I gestured at the racks of dresses that still filled the room. “What happens to the rest of them?”