Velvet

by Temple West

  “This,” he said, handing it to me carefully, “is a copy of the Matris Libri—the Book of Mothers. The original is, of course, in the Council vault. Even so, please handle it with care.”

  I opened the leather cover slowly. The first half of the book was filled with faded charcoal sketches of women that had clearly lived centuries ago. The closer I got to the end, the more modern the women became. I reached the last page and Adrian pointed at the bottom right picture. “That was Lucian’s mother.” He pointed to the photo on the left. “And that was my mother.”

  A soft smile came over Adrian’s face as he looked at the woman in the picture. Her dark, wavy hair blew in the breeze as she stood on a sailboat on the brightest blue water I’d ever seen, against the backdrop of a white city.

  “That’s Greece,” he explained. “She was going to become a biochemical engineer, according to her college transcripts. She was only twenty when I was born.” The smile on his face faded. Twenty when he was born—twenty when she died.

  “From the information we’ve gathered about these women,” Dominic continued, “they were all noted in their communities as individuals of great intellect, skill, and drive. Women that most likely would have become religious martyrs, political revolutionaries, scientists, and mathematicians. And you can see for yourself their beauty.” He leaned back and swirled the wine in his glass as though this were all regular dinner conversation. “Genetics appear to be an important factor. One theory is that demons choose handsome, intelligent women in order to produce similarly handsome and intelligent children.”

  I didn’t mean to, but I laughed. They looked at me sharply, and I felt bad for breaking the moment.

  “If that’s the case, you’ve got the wrong girl,” I explained.

  Mariana frowned at me, clearly disliking that I’d interrupted her husband. “And why is that?”

  I blushed. “Look, I’m—I’m okay to look at, but I sure as shit don’t look anything like her,” I said, pointing at the picture of Adrian’s mother. “Pardon my French,” I added, in his direction. “I also happen to be failing every class but art. I mean, I’m decently smart, I could be getting As if I wanted, but I don’t really care about school. I’m not a savant. I’m not different. I know how to sew better than anyone I know, but if the formula for whipping up vampire babies is an unfair amount of beauty and an absurd amount of intelligence, I doubt I’m a candidate.”

  “I am fascinated that you are so glib with your own life,” Mariana said, covering my interruption. “But we are not. Something will happen concerning you. Please do not disillusion yourself on this matter.”

  I bristled, but bit my tongue. She folded her hands in her lap, posture perfect, movements careful and measured, more like a marionette than a human being.

  “Since Adrian is the closest to you in age,” she continued, “and has a plausible excuse to be near you, the Council has assigned him as your primary guardian until the danger has passed. We will all, of course, be responsible for your safety, but any questions you have may be addressed to him. Please understand that, for the sake of your well-being, there may be subjects Adrian will not be permitted to discuss. If you try to acquire these answers in some other fashion, there will be consequences.”

  She paused to take a sip of wine, eyeing me over the rim of her glass. I kept expecting Adrian to pipe up with some funny, tension-relieving vampire trivia—but he didn’t. Finally, she set the glass down on the table and settled back into her spot on the couch, never breaking eye contact with me.

  “I must stress,” she began again, “that while your relationship with my younger brother must be convincing, it cannot be authentic. Our law forbids relationships—of any kind—between our race and yours. When the danger has passed, you and Adrian will”—she paused, looking at him—“how do they say it now? ‘Break up’? Publicly, of course. After which, you may return to your accustomed life—and we to ours.”

  If the silence had been awkward before, it was ten times that now.

  “Sure,” I said, the information stuttering through my brain. And then I blurted out, “Does he have a name? Your father?”

  Mariana’s eyes narrowed marginally. “He does.”

  But she didn’t elaborate—and neither did Adrian or Dominic. I’d definitely trespassed into restricted territory.

  Mariana was a tiny woman, smaller than me, but I felt like she could burn me with her eyes from across the room, like an evil, petite Superman. Maybe she could.

  The thought was not comforting.

  “All right, so, you’ll just—keep me updated, on stuff?” I asked, eyes flickering back and forth between Dominic and Mariana.

  They nodded in unison, which was just about the creepiest thing I’d ever seen.

  “Okay then,” Adrian said, standing, “now that we’ve unnecessarily terrified Caitlin, I’m going to take her home.”

  “It was very nice to meet you, Caitlin,” Mariana said with a smile that I’m not certain had ever reached her eyes.

  I nodded awkwardly at them, mostly because I couldn’t bring myself to return the sentiment. I turned to where Lucian had been sitting to say good-bye, but he was gone. Adrian led me off through the library again, back through the elegant maze that was his house. We reached the front door and he helped me into my coat.

  “That went all right,” he said finally.

  I snorted in disbelief, lacing up my boots.

  He grimaced a little. “Yeah, that was awful, I’m sorry. I kept wanting to say something, but you don’t know what it’s like here. I’m in such an awkward—” He paused, rubbing his hands over his face. “Let’s just say this is all unprecedented. I mean, this never happens. Humans don’t know our business. And Mariana and Dominic are rarely around your kind anymore, so they’ve lost their tact.”

  I’d actually never seen them in town, even to get groceries or fuel up their cars. They were like gods up here on the mountain, looking down at the little townsfolk. If these were the people he grew up with, a lot of Adrian’s initial standoffishness made a lot more sense now.

  We walked through the snow to his truck and the moment he opened the driver’s side door something sprang from the cab, ramming him back onto the lawn. I screamed, on edge from the recent threats. But when I looked closer, I realized the attacker was Lucian, and he and Adrian were wrestling—not to the death, as it first looked, but for fun … I think. After a few moments, Adrian had him pinned.

  “You didn’t expect me there,” Lucian said with a wicked grin, chest heaving from the exertion of fighting someone almost two feet taller and a hundred pounds heavier.

  “You’re right,” Adrian said. “I didn’t. Especially since I told you to stay out of my truck.” His tone was stern, but the expression on his face wasn’t angry. If anything, he looked amused.

  “I forgot,” the boy said impishly.

  “Yeah, I bet you forgot. Just like you ‘forgot’ to clean your room yesterday.”

  Lucian continued to grin and Adrian shook his head. “How about I forget you were in there if you go up and clean your room like Mariana told you to. Deal?”

  He hauled Lucian to his feet. The boy shook Adrian’s hand to agree to the terms and sprinted back into the house.

  I smiled. “Cute kid.”

  “He needs to stop popping out of nowhere.”

  “It wasn’t that bad.”

  “You forget I can hear your pulse.”

  Ah—right.

  We got into the truck and he backed out through what I had mentally dubbed “the palace gates.” I wanted to ask him so many things, but I felt uneasy. To be honest, Mariana and Dominic had totally unnerved me. They were so inhuman. Perfectly human looking, but their mannerisms and speech patterns were precise and slow, like beautiful, creepy-ass puppets. I’d initially thought Adrian was aloof, but he was a circus clown compared to his aunt and uncle. Or, well, his sister and brother-in-law. Geez, I was never gonna keep this all straight. It wasn’t that far between o
ur houses, so we were pulling up to the ranch before I could find the words to voice any of my thoughts.

  “Sorry I dragged you away from dinner,” I said as he parked the truck in front of the house. “You want to eat with us?”

  He seemed to consider it, then shook his head. “I’d better get back. Gotta take my medication.”

  I looked up at him curiously. “I thought your immune system kicked ass?”

  He laughed. “Sorry, that’s what we say when we need to drink—” He shrugged awkwardly. “Y’know.”

  “Oh,” I said, blushing for some reason.

  He looked down, obviously embarrassed. “It’s kind of an inside joke. Not that funny, really.”

  I should have kept my mouth shut, but curiosity got the better of me. “Does it … taste good?”

  He looked up at me for a long moment, before his gaze slowly drifted down to my neck. “You can’t imagine.”

  My pulse jumped, half in fear and half in … something else. His voice had gone low and liquid, and his eyes were burning silver.

  “Hey, Cait?” he murmured, and though he hadn’t moved an inch, it felt as though he were leaning toward me.

  “Yeah?” I whispered.

  He wasn’t looking me in the eye anymore, just staring somewhere above my chest and below my jaw. The sound of my own heart seemed loud in my ears, and if I could hear it, so could Adrian.

  His eyes flicked back to my face. “You should really get out now.”

  I blinked. “Yeah.”

  I scrambled to undo my seat belt and almost fell out of the truck. I could hear the click of the automatic locks snapping into place the moment the door was closed. Adrian peeled out of the driveway, back into the darkness.

  9

  DEATH SLED

  The Saturday before Thanksgiving was bright, the sun sparkling off the snowy ground and trees like flakes of diamonds all fluffed up into piles. I was standing at the stove in my sweatpants and one of my dad-sweaters cooking French toast and bacon and everything felt perfect, for once. Nothing actually was perfect, but it felt like it, and I was perfectly willing to ignore reality, if just for the morning.

  As usual, Rachel was sitting at the table going over paperwork. I’d long since figured that, between her and Joe, she had the head for math, which is why she did most of the bills and financing for the ranch. I glanced over and saw that her mug was empty. If I offered to refill it, she might want to talk. But I was in a good mood—I could risk it.

  “More coffee?” I asked, holding up the pot.

  “Sure,” she said, looking surprised. “That’d be great.”

  I walked over and refilled her mug before sitting down to eat my French toast. Rachel set down her papers and slid her reading glasses off.

  “Y’know, Caitlin,” she began cautiously, “you and Adrian seem pretty serious. Did you want to invite him over for Thanksgiving?”

  I choked on a bit of French toast. “I’ll invite him,” I said, still clearing my throat, “but I think he might want to be with his family.”

  “Okay,” Rachel said with her usual smile, “just let him know that he’s welcome here anytime. We’d like to get to know him.”

  I nodded and munched my breakfast cautiously, wondering if she’d say more, but she simply slipped her glasses back on and returned to the paperwork. I finished breakfast without having to engage in further conversation and headed upstairs only to find that my phone was ringing, which was weird, because nobody ever called me. Unfortunately, I couldn’t tell where it was ringing from. I finally found it in the pocket of some jeans that were buried in my hamper.

  “Hello?” I said, nearly dropping the phone.

  “Cait?” It was Adrian.

  “Hey, what’s up?”

  “What are you doing right now?”

  “Uh—” I looked around. “Standing in my room? In my pajamas?”

  “Get dressed; I’ll be by your place in twenty minutes to pick you up.”

  I immediately tensed. “What’s wrong?”

  “Don’t worry,” he said. “And dress warm.”

  He hung up and I stared at my phone. He could really be arrogant sometimes. Didn’t even ask if I wanted to hang out. Just assumed I had nothing better to do. The fact that I did not, actually, have anything better to do, was completely irrelevant.

  I ran into the bathroom for a quick shower and dressed in dark skinny jeans, an off-white sweater, my feather-print infinity scarf, brown leather gloves, gray knit hat, and birthday boots, which I was just lacing up when I heard Rachel call up that Adrian was here. I raced down the stairs.

  “Adrian and I are going out for a while; we shouldn’t be gone too long.”

  “Okay,” my aunt said with an amused smile that made me blush for some reason.

  I opened the door and just about ran into Adrian.

  “Hi.”

  I was a little stunned by his physical presence and had to crane my neck to look up at him. “You usually wait in the truck.”

  He smiled and closed the door behind me. “I wanted to surprise you. Actually,” he said, pulling a thin, black piece of fabric from his pocket, “the surprise hasn’t started yet.”

  “What?” I began to ask, but then he was wrapping the cloth around my eyes and tying it so I couldn’t see. I frowned in his general direction. “Just for the record, saying ‘The surprise hasn’t started yet’ while pulling something out of your pants is super creepy.”

  “Yeah—I regretted it immediately but it was too late to switch to something else.”

  “As long as we’re on the same page.” I felt my face with my hands. “Is this a blindfold?”

  “No,” he said dryly, “it’s a kitten. Of course it’s a blindfold.”

  He prodded me forward, one hand on each of my arms. I walked like a zombie, hands out, legs stiff.

  “This would be a lot easier if you just trusted me not to let you walk into the truck.”

  I rolled my eyes underneath the blindfold. “How do I even know we’re going to the truck?”

  “We are. Don’t make me use my Jedi mind tricks on you.”

  “My eyes are closed, so you can’t.”

  He let out a sigh. “Just let me walk you to the damn truck.”

  I looked up at him—well, tilted my face in what I thought was the direction of his—and frowned. “Fine.” I forced my legs and arms to go limp. He pushed me forward gently and we reached the vehicle without incident.

  “May I ask where we’re going?”

  “That would defeat the purpose of the surprise,” he said, pulling down the snowy drive after we were settled.

  “At least promise me this won’t be embarrassing. Or dangerous.”

  “Would I do that to you?”

  I, well, “looked” at him with a heck-yes-you-would expression. Or as much of one as I could muster with half my face covered.

  “I only embarrass you when it’s necessary.”

  I snorted. The truck bumped along the driveway to the main road.

  “Adrian,” I said after a moment. “Now that I can’t awkwardly make eye contact with you, we should talk about our fake-relationship rules.”

  There was a moment of silence. Then, “All right.”

  “So, I guess Rule One would be that you’re not allowed to fall in love with me.”

  “Oh, yeah?” he asked, sounding amused. “What about you falling in love with me?”

  I scoffed. “Why would I fall in love with you? You’re just a hot, closet-nerd vampire with a bazillion dollars and a Harley. There’s absolutely nothing attractive about you.”

  “I’m repulsive, I know.”

  “Yep. Rule Two,” I continued, “is that if we’re gonna be smoochy or huggy or whatever, there should be a formula.”

  “A kissing formula?”

  “No—well, yes. More like an algorithm or something. X number of displays of public affection per week, multiplied by holidays and special occasions, divided by well-timed lovers spats
and whatnot. We could make a chore chart.”

  “What is a chore chart?”

  I laughed politely, and then realized he was serious. “You don’t know what a chore chart is?”

  I think he may have nodded, then realized I couldn’t see him, and finally said, “No.”

  I leaned back, flabbergasted, then tried to figure out how to explain what I thought every American kid already knew.

  “It’s a piece of paper you stick to your fridge with magnets. It has chores, on a chart, for different days of the week. So ours can be that, except for PDA Mondays and Wednesdays you give me a peck on the cheek, Tuesdays are extended hugs, Thursdays are real smooches, and Fridays we have off—or something. We can give ourselves stickers.”

  I was blabbing on about the stupid chore chart, but I was blabbing because it was finally dawning on me that I’d be hand in hand, lip on lip with this guy for who knows how long, and I barely knew him, and the thing was, he was attractive. He’d be so easy to like. Even without the money and the Harley and the expensive sweaters, he was just a cool dude. And he was a nerd. He was a huge nerd. And socially awkward. I loved it. I didn’t love him—but I could. I could see myself maybe falling in love with him, one day, and since that seemed to be strictly forbidden, and just a bad idea anyway, I needed rules. I needed a buffer between this act we were putting on, and what I was really feeling. I needed a frickin’ chore chart.

  “All right,” Adrian said finally, “you draw it up and I’ll bring the stickers.” There was a pause, and then he asked, quite seriously—“Is there a certain kind of sticker I should acquire?”

  I pretended to think about it. “Gold stars are always a good choice—very classic. Or you could buy Valentine’s Day stickers. That would be appropriate.”

  “Got it.”

  I knew with absolute certainty that he would show up to school Monday morning with a full assortment for me to choose from. He was very literal and endearing like that.

  “Any other rules?”

  I was about to say no, but then thought of something else. “Just one,” I replied. “Don’t lie to me. This is my life, and it’s very weird right now, and I need you to promise that you won’t lie to me.”