Falling Dark

by Christine Pope

  “All right,” I said wearily. “Where and when?”

  “Just come to my studio space in West Hollywood. Be there as soon as you can, because we’ve got to try stuff on you and do any necessary alterations.”

  “I’ll try to be there by eleven.”

  “As late as that?”

  “I just got out of bed,” I replied with a calmness I certainly didn’t feel, even as I once again repressed the urge to hurl my phone across the room. “And it’s better to wait until a little later anyway. The traffic is going to be a mess until at least ten.”

  “Well, fine,” she said, her tone ungracious in the extreme. “Just get here, okay?”

  “Yes, ma’am.” And then I tapped the button on my screen to end the call, because I knew if I stayed on with her any longer, I’d tell her exactly what she could do with her goddamn stupid fashion show.

  I couldn’t put the phone away, however. Now I’d have to call Silas and let him know that he would have to fight traffic all the way to West Hollywood to drop me off, just because I was too afraid of familial repercussions to tell my sister no.

  This week was just getting better and better. What else did it have in store for me?

  * * *

  “Thank you so much for this,” I told Silas as he maneuvered his truck through the morass that was the interchange of the 110 and 10 Freeways.

  “It’s fine,” he replied. “It is what I told you I would do, after all.”

  “I know, but….”

  “Serena.” His voice was unruffled, even though he’d just had to tap his brakes to avoid being sideswiped by some asshole in a stake-bed truck who’d decided at the last minute that he really wanted to head west on the 10 instead of getting off at 7th Street. “Don’t worry. I don’t mind.”

  “Well, that makes one of us,” I muttered. Oh, yes, part of me was glad of any excuse to spend some more time with him, but sitting in traffic had to be one of the least pleasurable ways imaginable to be spending that time.

  We inched our way off the interchange and kept going west. Even though now it was well past ten o’clock, the traffic was as thick and slow-moving as slightly congealed molasses. If I’d had to drive myself, I probably would have been cursing in frustration by that point.

  And that was the other thing. Vanessa knew I hated to drive and avoided doing so as much as possible, and yet she’d just assumed I’d be all right with having to pilot myself across twenty miles of some of the worst traffic in the country. Or maybe she thought I’d hire an Uber. It would have been a hell of an expensive ride, but I supposed she didn’t care too much about that. Money wasn’t exactly an issue in our family.

  “Anyway,” Silas went on, “I live downtown, so it’s not that far to go back there and wait until you need me to pick you up when you’re done.”

  Another morsel of information. I was so starved for any details about him that I had to pounce on this one, a hungry rat going after a tiny sliver of cheese. “Oh, really? Do you like it there?”

  “Well enough. It’s central.”

  A fact that not many would argue with. Unless you counted the people like my sister who liked to pretend not much existed outside the 310 area code. Yes, she’d grown up in San Marino, but she hadn’t been back since she left to attend Otis Parsons when I was only eleven. Even during the summer breaks she was always traveling someplace or interning for someone, so she’d never really returned to the house where she’d grown up.

  Silas glanced over at me before returning his attention to the road. “My place is just outside Little Tokyo.”

  Was that the faintest hint of amusement I’d heard in his voice, as if he could tell that I hadn’t been exactly satisfied with the bare facts he’d offered so far about his home? “That sounds interesting. A lot more interesting than pedestrian Pasadena.”

  He didn’t immediately reply, as he’d just stepped on the accelerator to jet us past a Prius that was slow-poking along and leaving far more following distance than was strictly necessary. Once we’d settled down in our new lane, now moving slightly faster than we had before, he said, “Pasadena is a nice town.”

  “Not according to my mother. She thinks I’m living in a slum. Every week she looks up the crime reports for my neighborhood and emails them to me.”

  A chuckle. “I would say your mother doesn’t have much experience of the world if she thinks where you’re living is a slum.”

  “And you’d be right. She’s lived in San Marino her entire life.”

  “Then she didn’t go to college.”

  Clearly, he knew the area well enough to realize there weren’t any four-year colleges in Pasadena, except Caltech, and it was obvious enough to anyone who knew the least bit about her that my mother wasn’t exactly hiding a degree in astrophysics or mathematics. “No. That is, she went to Pasadena City College after she graduated high school, but she was never ambitious about having a career. All she wanted was to marry well and be a fixture in country club society. And,” I added, trying very hard not to sigh, “that’s exactly what she did, so I guess you could say she was successful.”

  “Your family has money.”

  It wasn’t a question. I wondered right then how much Silas actually did know about me, how much research he had done into my background. From a few hints he’d let drop, it did seem as if he possessed far more information about my family and my finances than he should. Whoever he worked for must have supplied that data, or he’d done some digging on his own.

  Maybe it should have bothered me, but so much of my family’s background was public knowledge that I’d stopped wasting my time worrying about that sort of thing. It came with the territory when your brother was a member of the U.S. Senate, with even loftier ambitions than that.

  “What gave it away?” I asked wryly, and Silas’ mouth twitched.

  “A few things. Do you mind?”

  “What do I mind…having money, or having people know that I have it?”

  “Both, I suppose.”

  I shrugged and looked away from him so I could stare out the truck’s window. We were just passing La Brea; a few more exits to go, and it would be time to get off the freeway. A glance at the clock on the dashboard told me it was now a quarter to eleven. No way we would make it to Vanessa’s studio by eleven as I’d promised, but there wasn’t much I could do about that.

  Since I could tell Silas was waiting for me to respond, I fiddled with the strap of my purse as it sat in my lap, then said, “I suppose it’s more strange than anything else. That is, I grew up around other people with money, so I didn’t think much about it when I was younger. When I got to high school, I started to realize that there was a difference between people who were just ordinarily well-off and my family, but it really didn’t hit home until I went to college. Yes, I know that everyone refers to USC as the ‘university of spoiled children,’ but it isn’t. Not really. There are students there from all over the world, people getting by on a patchwork of scholarships and grants, working two jobs while going to school full-time.”

  “So that opened your eyes?”

  “It did. And that was why I decided I wanted to go into education. At first my parents were happy, because they thought I intended to get my Ph.D. in pedagogy and teach at the university level. That would have been prestigious enough for them. But it wasn’t what I wanted.”

  “What did you want?”

  For some reason, a flush heated my cheeks. Still staring out the window, I replied, “I wanted to teach high school English. I was getting my master’s, just because I knew you started at a higher salary if you had one, but….” I stopped there and shook my head. The difference in salary between having just a teaching credential and a master’s degree probably amounted to less than what all my father’s investments earned in half a day. But the trifling numbers involved hadn’t mattered to me. What had mattered was that I’d planned to set my own course, one very different from my mother’s, and also very different from those of my sibling
s. I never wanted attention. Really, what I’d wanted more than anything was a life separate from my family’s expectations.

  “But then there was the accident.”

  I shifted in my seat and sent Silas a narrow-eyed look. His expression was imperturbable as usual, so I really couldn’t tell what he thought of the whole situation. He didn’t look back at me, though, as he was involved in maneuvering the truck over to the far right lane so we could get off at La Cienega. “I suppose you know all about that, too.”

  “Yes. As soon as it came to our attention that you were in possession of a very special talent, we found out what we could about you, about your past. Does that bother you?”

  Well, of course it did. Then again, these days almost anyone could dig up an unhealthy amount of data about a person if they were sufficiently motivated. It was so very difficult to hide.

  I settled for giving a shrug before I said, “I don’t know if it bothers me. Maybe a little. Anyway, I thought I’d be able to go back to school and pick up my master’s program once I recovered, but then the first…episode…came along, and that was the end of that.”

  “I’m sorry.”

  “It was long enough ago that I’m pretty much over it.” I turned back away from him so I was looking out through the windshield, watching gleaming high-rises and careful plantings of tall palm trees go by. “Maybe this isn’t the life I expected to have, but things are okay. Or at least they were okay until I learned that vampires walk among us.”

  I’d said that last bit with a purposely sarcastic tone to my voice, but Silas appeared to take me seriously. “Yes, it can be difficult to learn of these things, to realize there is much more to the world than is seen on the surface.”

  “Did you have to go through that, too?”

  His brows pulled together, but only for the barest trace of a second. Then his face seemed to smooth itself, and he said, “Not exactly. I’ve known about the vampires my entire life.”

  Was he from a family of vampire hunters? But no, he’d adamantly insisted that he and his people — whoever they were — didn’t actively go after the vampires, but only stepped in when necessary. I couldn’t really puzzle out what was going on with him, with his own past, but I also knew that asking for more details would get me nowhere. Instead, I gave a small, bitter laugh and said, “That’s kind of a heavy thing to be putting on a little kid, don’t you think?”

  “I suppose it depends on your point of view. There are those who would argue that it’s better to possess that particular knowledge early on, so there are no surprises.”

  That was one way of looking at it. I wondered what it was like to grow up knowing that a supernatural race existed alongside us mere humans, to carry that secret with you everywhere you went. No wonder Silas seemed so damn serious most of the time.

  I liked that about him, though. I’d been with a few guys who seemed to take everything as a colossal joke, and that sort of attitude could get very tiring very quickly.

  Not that I was “with” Silas, of course. We were…I couldn’t really think of a word to describe our relationship. He’d saved my life. And we seemed to be fairly comfortable in one another’s company. Was that enough to say we were friends?

  Possibly.

  “Turn right on Melrose,” I said. “Then there’s a little side street called Orlando. Turn left there. My sister’s studio is the gray building on the left.”

  Silas nodded and guided the truck along the route I’d indicated. As usual, the streets here were choked with traffic. It didn’t seem to matter what the time of day, or even what day it was — you were always stuck inching along from signal to signal. I honestly didn’t understand how my sister could live someplace so crowded, but she seemed to thrive on the chaos.

  He had to drop me off in the driveway, since there were absolutely no spots available on the street. “I’ll call you when I’m done,” I told him. “The show’s at seven, so…maybe around nine? I know she’s going to make me stick around for the hors d’oeuvres afterward.”

  “Whenever you’re done will be fine.” His gaze seemed to rake the building, its exterior quiet and serene, even though I knew it had to be a madhouse inside. “But Serena — ”

  “Yes?” I had no idea what I was expecting him to say, but my heart began to beat a little faster anyway.

  “Be careful. Make sure you’re never alone.”

  I summoned a smile, forcing myself to ignore the ridiculous hope that had begun to blossom inside me. “Not much chance of that. I’m going to be surrounded by hairstylists and makeup artists and models and various hangers-on. There’s no way I’d be alone even if I wanted to.”

  “Good.”

  He drove off then, leaving me to stare after his truck and wish that I was still inside, sitting only a foot away from him. We could have driven off together and….

  And what? I asked myself. Nothing is going on there. Nothing. So get in that studio and get this over with.

  I really disliked these sorts of productions, disliked having to put myself on display in such a way. Yes, people would be attending the show to look at the clothes, not me, but my inner introvert was screaming for me to dig my phone out of my purse and call Silas so he could come back and get me.

  That wasn’t going to happen, though. Resolutely, I ignored the urge to grab my phone and instead made myself walk down the driveway to the rear of the property, where I knew all the activity would be happening. My sister’s “studio” was actually a back house built behind the main house, where she lived. I had no idea where the actual show would take place, but since I’d done this before, I knew that all the models would get ferried there in a van at the appointed time.

  Models. I knew I was going to look like a plow horse next to a bunch of Arabians, but there wasn’t much I could do about it at this point.

  Since it was a mild day, all the windows to the studio were open, and the door stood open as well. I went inside and was greeted by the chaos I’d expected — racks of clothes everywhere, people chattering away, the hum of a sewing machine somewhere in the background. As soon as I entered what used to be a living room, my sister descended. She was a taller version of myself in some ways, the same dark hair and hazel eyes, only hers were half-obscured by a pair of oversized horn-rimmed glasses, and her hair was cut severely short in a pixie ’do that I would never have been brave enough to attempt. I liked my long hair. It helped me to hide. That’s what I felt as if I’d been doing ever since the accident…hiding who I really was.

  “Thank God you’re here. What took you so long?”

  “The traffic — ”

  “Never mind. I know the trousers you’ll be wearing in the first grouping will need to be hemmed. Go see Marco and let him take care of it. I’ve got to get on the phone with Neiman Marcus — the jewelry I was supposed to be borrowing still hasn’t shown up yet. Off with you!”

  She gave me a push toward the back of the house, then pirouetted on her wedge-heeled boots and took off toward what used to be the dining room and was now a forest of bolts of fabric standing on their ends. Since I’d done this before, I knew that the two small bedrooms had been transformed into alteration stations. I didn’t know Marco — my sister tended to cycle through assistants on a regular basis, driving them nuts with her insane demands — but I figured with only two bedrooms to choose between, it shouldn’t take me too long to track him down.

  “Marco?” I asked, sticking my head into the first bedroom.

  A handsome-verging-on pretty Filipino man looked up from the sewing machine there. “That’s me.” He gave me a quickly assessing glance. “You must be Serena.”

  “That’s right.” I went on in and extended a hand.

  He shook it, then said, “Okay, Vanessa set aside the things you’ll be wearing. Let’s get you out of your clothes so we can get through everything in enough time.”

  I wanted to quip that if he wanted me out of my clothes, he’d better buy me a drink first, but I could tell from
the set of his mouth that he wasn’t in the mood for any jokes. So I nodded, went behind the screen in the corner, and took off my jeans and T-shirt. There was a silk kimono draped over the screen, and I slipped into it, glad that my sister had remembered that particular detail. Last time she hadn’t, and I’d been forced to wander around in my bra and panties in between trying on outfits.

  Not that anyone present would have cared if I was naked. All her assistants were gay men, and none of the models would give me a second glance, even if they were into girls. Both they and I knew they could do better.

  So I emerged from behind the screen, and put on the pants Vanessa wanted hemmed, along with the shoes to match — retro-styled pumps with a wedge and four-inch heels. It would be a minor miracle if I managed to make it down the catwalk and back without face-planting in front of the entire world.

  Once upon a time, I might have managed it. Back in the day — high school, to be more exact — I had done some modeling, just for fun, thanks to certain contacts in my mother’s circle. I’d learned how to sashay in high heels, to stop in the right places, always staring out into the middle distance, never making eye contact with anyone. That was part of the reason Vanessa knew she could call on me in a pinch. I was too short, and not exactly runway material, but at least I knew the drill. Or I did, once.

  Now I stood there as Marco had me change out of one garment and into another, making sure hems were the right length, letting out a seam here and there. I was slender, but definitely not model-thin. Luckily, part of the popularity of Vanessa’s clothes was that she did design for people who weren’t a size double-zero, but even so, Marco did a whole lot more letting out than taking in that afternoon.

  At one point, when the hunger pangs got too bad, I asked if I could order in something, and my sister looked at me as if I’d just inquired whether it was okay to axe-murder her assistant. “You can’t eat,” she said. “You barely fit in those clothes as it is.”

  And then she was gone again.