"What do you care to dine on this evening, my sweet?" Bram asked and offered me a sugar-coated grin that revealed the very tips of his fangs.
"What's on the menu?"
Bram shook his head. "There is no menu. Whatever you desire is at your disposal."
Talk about being put on the spot. I wracked my overwhelmed brain but nothing seemed to come forward. Finally I just settled for a filet of salmon and a Caesar salad. Not exactly a culinary delight, but I was too tired to come up with anything fancier.
"Very well," Bram said and then eyed the goblin who very quickly retired through the double doors again. "So you find yourself under my roof, my sweet," Bram said and eyed me speculatively.
"Don't get any ideas," I reminded him again to which he just laughed heartily.
"I have been getting ideas, as you call them, about you from the moment I first laid eyes on you in your tight, little ANC uniform." He grew quiet then as if he were stuck in his memories. "How long ago was that, my sweet?"
"Too long," I answered and took a big gulp of water once the goblin returned with a large jug of ice water with lemons and poured me a glass.
"At any rate, you and I have been friends many years, my dear."
"Are we friends, Bram?" I asked, suddenly wondering where this conversation was headed. And, really, that was the ultimate question. Were we friends? I'd always considered Bram an acquaintance, definitely, but our relationship had never firmly traveled to the land of friendship mainly because Bram also maintained ties with the less savory members of Splendor society.
"I have always given you the unpleasant details of those who live and work in the Underground, have I not?"
I nodded. "Yes, you have, but sometimes I wonder if it's because you prescribe to the idea of keeping your enemies closer than your friends."
Bram eyed me suspiciously almost. "Very advantageous words to live by."
I smiled, suddenly feeling fuel behind my fire. One thing I could say for Bram was that I could always speak my mind with him. "Why do you insist on playing the middle ground, Bram?"
"Middle ground?" he repeated, feigning ignorance, but I was more than aware that he was simply buying time. Bram didn't care for conversations such as these because he didn't like demonstrations of the errors of his ways, as most narcissists don't.
"Yes, you walk a tight line between doing good and doing not so good." I took a breath. "I always find myself wondering if and when you will ever cross over and if you do, which way you'll cross."
Bram laughed and started drumming his fingers against the table again as I wondered if maybe he was nervous. "I am a businessman, first and foremost, Sweet. And as all good businessmen do, I hold my cards very close to my chest."
I nodded but I wasn't placated. "There will come a day, Bram, and that day is coming closer and closer, where you'll have to take a side."
"Against your father?"
I nodded. "The margins are slimming. You're either with us or against us."
Bram smiled more widely. "Is not your sitting at my table an example of where my sympathies lie?"
I smiled just as broadly. "It wouldn't surprise me to know you harbored Loyalists in the very next room. That's the thing about you, Bram, you're unpredictable."
"That I am, my dear," he said, eyeing me pointedly. "But is unpredictability not the very measure of mystery and is mystery not the very measure of intrigue?"
I leaned forward. "I don't want to mince words here, Bram, but your tightrope walking days are going to come to an end ... very soon."
He just watched me, appearing amused. "Then I daresay it will be an interesting moment when you learn which side I shall choose, will it not?"
I leaned back into my chair and nodded. "As long as you choose correctly, Bram."
TWELVE
After my dinner with Bram, which was beyond exhausting, I was more than pleased to retire into the "comfort" of my temporary room. Bram accompanied me up the stairs and down the hallway. I noticed a guard stationed outside my door and greeted him with a quick nod. Apparently, Bram was taking this safety and security stuff pretty seriously, which was reassuring. After saying good night, Bram loitered in front of my door for a few minutes, obviously waiting for an invitation to enter. When he didn't receive one, he bid me a quick and unenthusiastic "Good evening," before retiring to wherever he kept himself occupied. I didn't waste any time in closing the door behind him and dead bolting it as I eyed my bed with sincere appreciation, even though it was way too ostentatious for my taste.
Because my clothing hadn't yet arrived from the compound, I was left with no other option but to search through the only chest of drawers in the room. It matched the Louis XIV bed with its intricate detailing and brash gold color. Not surprisingly, I found an assortment of women's clothing, which, upon further inspection, were of various sizes and diverse tastes—a rainbow of choices as I'm sure Bram maintained a rainbow of variety when it came to his dalliances with the opposite sex. Some men kept track of their "scores" by way of "notches" on their bedposts; Bram appeared to "notch" by keeping random articles of women's clothing. Yep, of one thing I was certain regarding the handsome vampire, was that he was a total and absolute man slut.
I searched drawer after drawer, looking for something that resembled pajamas or even a loose T-shirt, but after finding only a slinky, red negligee and an even slinkier black-lace teddy, I opted to sleep in nothing but my panties.
Trying to beat down my second wind, which was just now making itself known, I approached the enormous windows on the opposite side of the room, curious to see what lay beyond them. The curtains were thick, heavy, and difficult to open, but once I managed, I was rewarded by a beautiful view of a wrought-iron balcony just above Bram's enormous pool. The moonlight reflected against the dark water in ripples. I thought about standing on the balcony for a while, just to feel the touch of the breeze against my skin, but in this instance, I ignored the urge, figuring it would be too cold anyway.
Instead, I gazed out at the moon, which was full, round, and shining like a son of a bitch. Thoughts began circling my mind regarding Bram. Our conversation tonight had really sparked questions and the more I considered just how Bram fit into the larger context of Loyalist vs. Rebel, the more I had to wonder about Bram’s allegiance in all of this. I mean, at what point was it no longer okay to remain uninvolved and detached? At what point would Bram realize he needed to make a decision as to what side he favored? Furthermore, what did it mean when he said he was a "businessman, first and foremost"?
Everything was coming down to the wire and the time for choosing sides was long past. Thinking more about it, I had to wonder whether Bram could really be considered a friend to The Resistance, especially if he was, to use his own words, primarily a businessman? Was he referring to the business of running the biggest nightclub in Splendor? Or was there more to this picture?
Ultimately, when it came down to it, what did I really know about Bram?
I mean, I knew he owned and operated No Regrets, and that he definitely held hands with the criminals of Splendor as often as he held hands with the ANC. Yep, I'd always been able to rely on Bram for juicy tidbits regarding the less than law-abiding citizens of Splendor. But I could only imagine that while he fed me information about the goings on in the streets of Splendor, he also fed criminals information about the ANC. Otherwise, he could never have been able to remain in the middle, regarded as neither a model citizen nor a criminal by the ANC and the law breakers alike.
I also couldn't ignore the fact that Bram had been in business with my father once upon a time. Of course he'd also said that he'd come to Splendor to escape my father's tyranny, but who knew if that story was entirely accurate? And furthermore, Bram did have his own portal to the Netherworld ... Granted, Bram's portal looked as if it hadn't been used in over one hundred years (which was also the story Bram gave me), but just having a private portal to the Netherworld that was still operable had to mean something. Right?
/>
Now I wondered if maybe Bram wasn't as innocent as he professed to be. But what exactly did that mean? Did I think Bram was responsible for the Denali explosion? No, I couldn't wrap my mind around that one. As much as I couldn't imagine Bram shedding a single tear over Knight's demise, I also didn't think he would voluntarily plot my assassination. Besides, Bram was no insider of The Resistance so he wouldn't have had any way of knowing the whereabouts of the Denali, or Knight and me ... unless, of course, he had an informant.
But regardless of whether he had an informant or not didn't change my belief that Bram didn’t want to see me dead—not after the way he went on and on about his interests in me. As much as I never wanted to admit it, Bram was obsessed with me. But didn’t obsession lead to crimes of passion and violence? Wasn’t everything fair in love and war?
I shook my head, because it just didn't ring true. If Bram wanted me dead, he'd already had many opportunities to see his goal to fruition, especially after taking it upon himself to become my guardian in the Netherworld. No, if Bram was guilty of anything, it sure wasn't planning my end.
My brain continued to find reasons for Bram's innocence or lack thereof, and I was suddenly reminded about Bram's statement that Christina had stayed with him on more than one occasion. What did that mean? With all certainty, I believed in Christina's innocence, since she was the leader of The Resistance. But maybe the answer wasn't so complicated. Maybe the answer was as simple as Christina falling in love with Bram? And if she were in love with him, maybe she was feeding him information without even realizing what she was doing. How many times did I hear that love was blind? Well, maybe love was blind! Maybe in this case, Christina's blind love for Bram was responsible for her blabbing information she otherwise would not have. Maybe she trusted Bram because she loved him and failed to see the danger involved by trusting him?
Thinking more about it though, I didn't buy it. Why? Because one thing I'd learned about Christina during the course of our association, was that she was one bad ass chick. And last I checked, bad ass chicks didn't fall head over heels in love with candy ass vampires. Not only that, but I couldn't imagine there was a chance in hell that Christina, even playing the devil's advocate and accepting that she was in love with Bram, would ever give up any information about The Resistance, since she held it so close to her heart.
Hmm, so if a love tryst between Bram and Christina didn't seem likely ...
What if Christina, knowing that Bram walked the fine line between good and bad, didn't trust him and as part of her distrust, stationed me here, under his roof on purpose? What if this move on her part wasn't so much to secure my own safety as it was for me to keep an eye on Bram? Maybe it was an attempt to get up close and personal with the goings on behind Bram's closed doors? And, finally, to get to the bottom of whether or not Bram was somehow involved in the assassination plot, and more pointedly, somehow involved with my father?
That made sense. Christina, being my father's pet before all of this Resistance stuff hit the fan, would have known those who were closest to him. Moreover, Christina would have all the background history between Bram and my father. And, knowing that history, she'd want to make sure Bram didn’t pose a threat. Or maybe it was even simpler than that—maybe Bram was involved with my father all along, and Christina was also aware of it?
'Course, if Bram had been in cahoots with my father recently, then he would know about Christina's fall from my father's grace. Moreover, she'd also be fully aware that Bram knew. And if they were both aware of what happened, there wouldn't be a need for the two of them to play games. Instead, Christina could have simply taken Bram into Resistance custody, or Bram could have fled Splendor for the Netherworld a long time ago.
As far as I could tell, Christina and Bram seemed to be dancing around one another. Bram wasn't a member of The Resistance, but seemed to be considered a friend. Toward that end, Christina paid her own visits to Bram, just as Bram admitted. But the more I thought about it, the more I was convinced that those visits weren’t social calls. No, Christina was trying to decipher whether or not Bram could be considered friend or foe. After all, Bram was a wild card and Christina couldn't count on a wild card in her deck. It was just too dangerous. So, rather than come right out and let Bram know she was sizing him up, she'd orchestrated the genius excuse of my needing protection. In doing so, she was putting me directly in his lair where I could watch his comings and goings, and keep track of him in order to decipher if he really was a threat.
Aside from not appreciating being left to my own defenses in the enemy's lair (if that was, in fact, what Christina considered Bram to be), I didn't fail to see the beauty of the arrangement. The only risky part for Christina was betting that I would experience this epiphany in the first place. But then again, it must have been a bet that Christina was willing to take. And, not to toot my own horn, but given my ANC record for weeding out the facts, I was the perfect candidate for this job. Not only that, but I believed Bram trusted me. I'd never given him any reason not to.
Hmm, so Christina might be suspicious of Bram continuing some level of involvement with my father. While I couldn't say I wholeheartedly wrapped my brain around the idea, I also couldn't deny it. Thinking about it, though, upset me. Granted, although I never considered myself to be close to Bram, at the same time, I always enjoyed our awkward relationship. When it came down to it, I didn't want to believe Bram was guilty of associating with my father and supporting his cause. I wanted to believe Bram was innocent, but I'd also been trained well enough to leave my personal feelings out of it. As an ANC Regulator, I had to focus on the facts, to focus on the cold, hard truth, the black and white ... just as I'd always done.
One thing I did know, though, was that if Bram was a Loyalist, in cahoots with my father, and (for the sake of argument) partially responsible for the detonation of the Denali, there had to be someone else involved. Why? Because Bram was too separated from The Resistance itself in order for him to even get an inkling of information about the internal goings on. That could only mean one thing—someone was feeding him information.
My mind was swimming with "what ifs" as well as feelings of anger, betrayal, and sorrow if the "what ifs" were actually valid. Deciding to sleep on everything, I closed the curtains and started for the bed. Yes, it did occur to me that if Bram was behind the Denali detonation, I was now basically as good as dead. But I abandoned the thought because I imagined Bram wouldn't show his hand quite so quickly. Besides, Christina and Knight knew the location of my whereabouts, which meant there would be too many witnesses. Nope, Bram would opt for stealth if he were behind the attacks. Killing me now would be too convenient and way too obvious.
Besides, I wasn't wholly convinced of Bram's involvement in any of this anyway ...
I removed most of the pillows from the headboard, noticing how much bigger the bed appeared when it wasn't overflowing with fluff. Then I crawled under the covers, while a yawn seized my entire body. I closed my eyes and felt the luxury of sleep invading me.
###
It was one of those dreams where you realize you're dreaming, but you can't wake up so you end up just going with the flow. In it, I saw myself lying in an enormous and god-awful golden bed. It took me a second or two to realize it was the same bed I'd gone to sleep in and my room was also the same: an ornately overdone gold bedroom.
I felt as if I were floating at the top of the room, glancing down at the enormous bed where I could just make out the top of someone's head. Her hair was a wavy, honey-gold and when she turned to her other side, I immediately recognized her profile. She was I and I was she. As soon as the thought occurred to me, I felt a great swoosh of air against my face, as if I were in a wind tunnel. When I opened my eyes, I noticed my vantage point had changed and I was now no longer floating along the ceiling, but firmly planted on a bed, with my cheek against a satiny pillow.
I've been sucked back into my body.
At the revelation, a sudden wind gusted fr
om an open window at the far side of the room. It was a window that hadn’t been open when I went to bed. The gust of wind blew out the candle beside the bed which was concerning since I didn't recall going to bed with the candle lit, or, for that matter, a candle even being on the bedside table. The drapes rustled in the cold breeze and I felt myself sitting up, my eyes swollen with sleep. I watched the curtains dance suggestively with the breeze and didn't feel threatened in the least, even though I imagined I should have, considering windows couldn't open themselves. Instead, I enjoyed the feel of the cold night air against my cheek. I yawned and urged myself to stand up in order to close the window and the drapes, but somehow couldn't quite motivate myself to do it. Instead, the breeze against my cheek felt icily delicious and I pulled my knees into my chest, loving the fact that I felt so warm beneath my covers.
Forgetting the window and the drapes, I closed my eyes again and willed myself to go back to sleep. Almost immediately, the temperature in the room dropped until it became painfully cold, like an ice locker. I rolled onto my back, trying to convince myself to get up and shut the window, but my body was still completely in Morpheus' grip and I couldn't wake myself up.
Dulcie, close the window! I yelled at myself.
I opened my eyes, feeling irritated that I'd have to leave the haven of my warm covers in order to brave the freezing room on an errand that I still hadn't convinced myself was even worth it. I noticed the moonlight streaming in through the window, where it highlighted the gold of my coverlet until it appeared to glow. Following the rays of the milky moon, I watched the curtains while they danced this way and that, as if in the throes of a passionate affair with the wind.
I felt my eyes growing heavy as I watched the heady dance of the curtains. I thought it must have been an optical illusion, but as I watched, the air just at the end of my bed began to grow opaque, almost as if mist were rising up from the floor. As I watched, the mist grew slowly denser and thicker. What was more interesting, it now embodied the shape of a man. I could clearly see shoulders, a head, arms, and legs.
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