She said not a word, but her fingers left my wrist, grazing a little of the skin of my bare forearm for a heartbeat before her hand fell to her side. I shivered, holding my hand to my heart, then, as if I’d been bitten. We stood like that for a heartbeat, two, the woman’s eyes never leaving mine as her chin lifted, as her jaw worked again, her full lips parting…
“Are you all right?” I shivered again. Her voice was dark, deep and throaty, as cool as her skin, as gentle as the touch of her fingertips along my arm. But as I gazed up at her, as I tried to calm my breathing, my heart, we blinked, she and I, together.
I knew, then.
I’d heard that voice before.
I’d seen this face before.
“Have we…met?” I stammered, eyes narrowed as I gazed up at her in wonder. We couldn’t have. She shook her head and put it to the side as she looked down at me, as if I was a particularly difficult puzzle that needed solving. I would have remembered her, the curve of her jaw and lips, the dazzling blue of her eyes. I could never have forgotten her if I’d only seen her once. It would have been impossible.
I took a gulp of air and took a step back again, unthinking, and her hand was there, then, at my wrist again as she smoothly pulled me forward, toward her.
“The stairs,” she said softly, apologetically. I’d taken a step closer to her this time, and there was hardly any space between us, even as I realized that my hand was at her waist, steadying myself against her. I took a step to the side, quickly, then, my cheeks burning.
“I’m sorry,” I managed, swallowing. “And…thank you…” Her head was still to the side, but this time, her lips twitched as if she was trying to repress a smile.
“I’ve been meaning to remodel these steps. Not everyone knows how steep they truly are,” she said, and her lips did turn up into a smile, then, making my heart beat a little faster. I took a great gulp of air as she held out her cool fingers to me, palm up.
“I am Kane Sullivan,” she said easily, her tongue smoothing over the syllables as the smile vanished from her face. “You must be Rose Clyde,” she said gently, the thrill of her voice, the deepness of it, the darkness of it, saying my name, the way her lips formed the words…I nodded my head up and down like a puppet, and I placed my hand in hers. Her fingers were so cold, as she shook my hand like a delicate thing, letting her palm slide regretfully over mine as she dropped my hand with a fluid grace I had to watch but still couldn’t fully understand.
I was acting like an idiot. I’d seen beautiful women before. But Kane wasn’t beautiful. Not in that sense. She was…compelling. Her face, her gaze, her eyes, an impossibility of attraction. I felt, as I watched her, that buildings, trees, people would turn as she walked past them, unseeing things still, somehow, gazing at her.
I knew her, then.
The painting. The woman in the painting from last night, with the big, black cat, lounging and regal and triumphant and unspeakably bewitching. The naked woman, I realized, as my face began to redden, warming beneath her cool, silent gaze. She was the woman from the painting. But as I realized that, as we silently watched one another, I realized, too, that that would have been impossible. It had been a while since college, it was true, but I could still tell when a painting was a few hundred years old.
The woman in the painting could not possibly have been Kane Sullivan. And yet, it couldn’t possibly have been anyone else.
“I’m…I’m sorry,” I spluttered, realizing—again—how much of an idiot I must look to this incredibly attractive creature. Her lips twitched upward again, and her mouth stretched into a true smile this time, the warmth of it making the air around her seem less frozen.
“You’re fine. It’s not everyday that someone completely uproots their life and charts a course for places unknown,” she said, turning on her heel and inclining her heard toward me. As she turned, I caught the scent of her. Jasmine, vanilla…spice. An intoxicating, cool scent that was warm at the same time. Unmistakable and deeply remarkable. Just like her. I stared up at her with wide eyes as she gestured gracefully with her arm for us to walk together, like she was a gentleman from the past century. True, she was wearing a sharp man’s suit (that I was trying desperately not to stare at or trace the curves of it with my eyes—and failing), but there was something incredibly old fashioned about her. I kept thinking about that at that first meeting. Like she was from a different era, not the one of smart phones and the Internet and fast food french fries. No. The kind of era that had horse-drawn carriages, corsets and bustles and houses that contained parlors. We began to walk down the corridor together, in the opposite direction I had come, me sneaking surreptitious glances at her, her staring straight ahead.
The spell of the moment was broken, but a new spell was beginning to create itself, weaving around the two of us as we walked along the corridor. As she spoke, I stared half up at her, half down the hall stretching out in front of us. All of my actual attention, though, was on this woman.
Every bit of it. She was just like that. So…compelling. She was a gravity that pulled me in, hook, line and sinker. I didn’t know then how much of a gravity she had yet to become to me.
“I’m sorry that Gwendolyn could not meet you at the appointed time this morning to show you around and introduce you to everyone as she’d promised. She told me that had been her plan…but we had a pipe break in the kitchens,” said Kane, every word apologetic as she glanced sidelong at me. “I was actually on my way to fetch you in her place, but…I passed the ‘Widowmaker’ on my way. And there you were.”
The Widowmaker. Oh…those terrible stairs that had almost cost me my life. The name finally made sense.
“Thank you so much for hiring me,” I managed, then, realizing that I’d not actually thanked her for the job and the room and the board and the change of life I hadn’t known how much I needed. “I couldn’t believe you hired me sight unseen,” I confessed as we rounded a corner. The plush carpet beneath us caused our footsteps to be as hushed as a whisper as we walked side by side companionably. When had the floor changed underfoot from wood to carpeting? I wasn’t paying attention to much of anything but her, it was true, but, still…
“But of course!” said Kane, and I glanced at her. She was smiling again, eyes on the floor in front of her, arms carefully folded behind her, head slightly to the side as if she was still trying to solve an interesting problem. I was beginning to wonder if I was that interesting problem. “Gwen’s only been with me for a short while, but I trust her. She recommended you wholeheartedly, and how could I refuse such a sincere recommendation for employment? And, honestly, when she’d told me your circumstances…” She trailed off, and I saw her glance at me out of the corner of her eye.
My stomach began to roil in me. Circumstances? What exactly had Gwen told my new boss?
“She said that…you’d had had a family tragedy,” said Kane smoothly, brows up. She appeared to notice my concern. “And that you needed a change of scenery.”
Family tragedy. Yes, that perfectly described what had happened. Anna had been my only family. I sighed and rubbed at my eyes, staring down at my palm that now had a smudge of mascara in it. I’d forgotten I was wearing makeup. I didn’t usually. But I’d wanted to make a good impression…and now I probably looked like a frazzled fright. Great. But Kane didn’t make any mention of it at all, only smiled softly at me and pulled a handkerchief, of all things, out of her suit jacket’s breast pocket. I felt like I’d stepped back in time as I took the cloth handkerchief from her, and dabbed beneath my eyes. The corner of the cloth came away a little black, and I sighed, staring down at the square of cream in my hands that I’d now effectively stained forever.
“You keep it,” said Kane, voice soft, as I turned the cloth over and over again in my palms, staring down at the perfectly monogrammed fancy red “S” in the corner. I traced my finger along its delicate scarlet curve. “My mother taught me,” she said, mouth forming a grimace now, “to always have a handkerchief handy
. Just in case.”
“You’d think I would have learned that important lesson,” I realized I’d blurted out before I could stop myself. “These past few months have been especially hard for me. Which is why I’m extra grateful for the change of scenery in coming here…to the Sullivan Hotel,” I told her, as we approached a heavily ornamented oaken door. The thing was massive, at least twice as tall as I was, and we stopped outside of it, then. I heard voices from within. Women’s voices. Laughter.
Music.
Kane smiled at me again, and it was so strange when she did so. The woman in the painting…had she been smiling? I couldn’t remember if she had or not, but regardless, I felt as if I’d seen Kane smile before. It was such a rich, delicious thing to watch this woman smile. She was very certain about her smiles, and I got the feeling—very much so, in fact—that she didn’t often do it, lips curling up at the corners, face brightening like a star. Somehow, I felt that when she smiled, it was a rare and precious thing.
And now here she was. Smiling at me.
What was wrong with me? There was a distant strange feeling, as if I was doing something wrong. I knew where that feeling was coming from. Anna. I’d loved her so much, and now here my stomach was turning warm, my heart beating faster, because this incredible woman was smiling at me. But there was something else even beyond that, in this strange feeling. Something—well. Stranger.
It was unnerving because I felt as if I’d seen her before. As if I’d seen her smile at me, reach out her hand to me. As if she’d touched me before. There was something familiar about the soft coolness of her skin, and it could not possibly be familiar. But it was, at the same time.
As we stood quietly in the corridor, as the sound of muffled voices, of velvety laughter, played out in the room beyond, we stood. The air between us was cool, scented with jasmine and spice. It was intoxicating, and again for the second time that day, I felt light headed.
I felt so strange.
“I wanted to introduce you to the others here at the Sullivan Hotel,” said Kane then, inclining her head back toward the massive oaken door behind her. The wide doorframe around the impressive doors was carved with twining maple leaves, violets, and—upon closer inspection—little cherubim faces. Though they did not look at all angelic. Their wings curved behind them in such a way that it looked almost as if they had devil horns. Paired with their demonic smirks, they were more than a little unnerving. I shivered.
Kane turned back to me. “These are my…relatives,” she said then mysteriously, as she smiled at me again. “They all live here at the Sullivan Hotel with me, and most of the employees simply treat them as if they were guests, so you’ll probably interact with them quite a bit. They are very important to me,” she said strangely, brows up. My heart fluttered like a caged animal behind my ribs as she stepped forward, as she placed her long, graceful fingers on the elaborately scrolled silver doorknob.
The door opened.
“You take forever—we thought you’d be back a half hour ago!” said the woman at the door petulantly, stomping her pink high-heeled toe a little to annunciate her words. She had short curly blonde hair, and a doll’s downward curving painted red mouth, perfectly makeupped face making her appear model-like. She was frowning as she gazed at Kane, but then she saw me and grinned widely. “The new girl!” she announced then, flinging the door open and wide.
Kane ushered me into the dimly lit room. Though it was morning, and windows along the corridor had proclaimed it a remarkably sunny, pretty day outdoors, there were no windows in this room, making it seem smaller and darker within than it really was. It took me a moment for my eyes to adjust to the darker interior, and it was then that I realized how many women were here, lounging on couches or plush chairs, or standing together in a little group. Eight women, I realized.
“Sullivans,” said Kane, sweeping her arm to include the room and all of its shadowed occupants. “Meet Rose Clyde, our newest employee here at the hotel. And Rose? Meet the Sullivans.”
There was something strange that I couldn’t quite work out as my eyes adjusted even further to the dimly lit room, and I was able to fully take in the women. I finally recognized the strangeness as I looked at them.
None of the women looked similar.
But they were…the Sullivans? Were they related? But how could they be?
The petulant blonde woman who’d opened the door to us grinned widely at me and held out her perfectly pink-nailed hand. “I’m Dolly,” she cooed, pumping my hand up and down energetically. “We’re so pleased to have you here! You’re going to love it in Eternal Cove, I promise—”
“Try not to eat her up in one gulp, Doll,” murmured one of the women lounging on the corner plush couch. Though her words were soft and low, they carried with authority across the room to us. She had long, straight black hair and as I glanced in her direction, I felt myself paling. I’d never seen a more beautiful cat-like woman filling out the curves of a prettier black dress. The dress looked a little retro, like it was from the fifties with all its pleats and ruffles, and the dress clung to every curve of her, as if it had been dripped over her skin to form the fabric. A thick necklace of pearls hung in drapes around her neck as she curled her too-red lips upward. She was very pale, I realized, as I watched her stand, her tall heels clicking over the red and black checkerboard floor toward us in measured, calculating steps, her body moving in the confidant, almost lazy strides of a big cat. Her smile didn’t quite reach her eyes.
She held out her hand to me, too, and when I took hers and shook it, her fingernails seemed to prick my palms.
“I’m Mags,” she told me then, leaning forward a little, eyebrows arching towards Kane as she dropped my hand like it was a bit of trash. “And no offense, sugar,” she said, wiping her palm on her hip as I blushed. She wasn’t looking at me as she spoke—she was staring at Kane. “But this little morsel isn’t going to last two minutes here.” Her lips were up and over her teeth, now, as if she was sneering…but it was more of a snarl.
I was so surprised by this hostile gesture that I took a step backwards. But then Kane’s hand was at the small of my back, and I was so equally surprised by her protectiveness, that I stood still, instead. Kane took a step closer to Mags, her fingers curling around my waist as she leaned forward. The air between the two women seemed to snap, crackling with the energy between their locked eyes.
The room fell silent.
“Manners, Mags,” is what Kane whispered, then. It was such a soft tone of voice that I had to strain to hear it, but the syllables seemed to reverberate in the floor beneath my flats.
Mags stared from me to Kane back to me again, and then she laughed. She tilted back her head and laughed like she’d just heard the most ridiculous joke. It was a cruel collection of cackles. She turned and clicked back over to the couch. It was almost a flounce.
I didn’t understand the exchange, really. But it was quite obvious, then, that Mags and Kane didn’t exactly see eye to eye.
I’d last here much more than a minute, thanks ever so much, I told myself, bristling. I’d last as long as I wanted to here. And why wouldn’t I last? All Gwen had told me about this place sounded like wonderful things, and if there were minuses to the job, she would have said something to me about them. I knew that. But as I watched Mags prowl back to the couch, her hips swaying back and forth as if it was their job to be suggestive, I swallowed. She moved like a predator.
“Don’t listen to Mags,” said the woman closest to me, then. Though it was only about nine o’clock in the morning, she was holding an empty martini glass in two graceful black fingers. She had one brow up, her curly short black hair sweeping over her eyes like she’d styled it to be reminiscent of Elvis. “She’s in a permanent bad mood,” said the woman, her warm, rich voice sweeping over me. She grinned at me with her full lips as if we shared a secret. “I think you’ll fit in quite well here. My name is Victoria.”
“Hello, Victoria,” I told her, as monot
one as if I was a robot repeating words. Dolly pranced up to me again, as if sensing how overwhelmed I was, her high heels clicking on the impressive black and red floor as she snatched up my hand and squeezed it.
“Play a round of gin rummy with me?” she said then, plaintive words seemingly curled up at the end, not as if she was asking me, but rather demanding that I do it. I didn’t mind as I gazed over my shoulder at Kane who shrugged and smiled a little, gesturing with her hand to the rickety card table set up in the corner with the worn deck of cards spread out at it. They were spread out on a doily that did little to mask how beat up the table was—which seemed deeply incongruous with the grandeur of the rest of the furniture in the room. But Dolly dragged me over and I sat down woodenly at the table, trying to take in all of the women in the room, the room itself with all of its dark, shadowed corners, and the fact that all of these women were gathered here rather than in a dining hall for breakfast or in the kitchens, or...
“I found our Rose by the Widowmaker. If I hadn’t caught her, she would have fallen down the steps,” said Kane then, voice low as she strode with purpose toward the far mantel and fireplace. A fireplace, I might add, that was wide enough to drive a car through. The carved marble mantle again had the maple leaves, the violets…and those frightening cherubim faces that seemed to grimace at me as I turned to watch Kane move. Kane opened up an ornate little wooden box that was set on that mantle and—much to my surprise—took out a pack of cigarettes. She tapped one out with practiced ease, and lit it with a strange little contraption that looked like it was a curvaceous woman made out of metal. An antique lighter, I realized.
“Fallen!” snorted Mags, crossing her legs and twitching her toes up and down so that her high heel moved with rhythm. “We wouldn’t want that.”
That wasn’t even a thinly veiled threat—it was a clumsy overture of hatred. I stared at this woman I’d just met, this woman who believed—for whatever strange reason—that I’d last five minutes in this hotel, in this job.
Meeting Eternity (The Sullivan Vampires, Volume 1 Page 4