Lilith glanced over at the catered refreshment table, laden with fresh fruit and cheese trays, trying to hide her revulsion. The sight of what clots called “food” was enough to make her stomach turn. She wondered how they could bring themselves to eat such slop.
The store’s fashion director held up her hands for silence. “Ladies, we here at Bergdorf Goodman are pleased to introduce a new designer to our collection this coming spring. Here to speak to you about their upcoming ready-to-wear line is Maison d’Ombres’ North American executive representative.”
Carmen nudged Lilith as a tall, well-built man in his mid-twenties stepped forward. “He makes Ollie look like a waiter at Applebee’s.”
“He’s cute”—Lilith shrugged—“but Jules is hotter.”
“Jules is smoking hot,” Carmen agreed.
“What do you mean by that?” Lilith said suspiciously.
“Nothing, Lili,” Carmen replied quickly. “I was just saying, you know.”
Seemingly oblivious to the discussion of his relative hotness, the young exec smiled at the women assembled before him. “Ladies, allow me to introduce to you the bright young face of Maison d’Ombres—the incomparable Gala!”
From behind one of the racks stepped a stunningly beautiful girl with high, rounded cheekbones, pouty bee-stung lips, sparkling aquamarine eyes, and long hair that spilled down about her shoulders like warm butterscotch. With her long, shapely legs and surfer-girl tan, she looked fresh off the beach at Malibu.
As the model sashayed out into the audience dressed in a ruff-collar blouse paired with a bow-belted dark skirt and a houndstooth trench with rolled sleeves, a photographer with broad shoulders and a neatly trimmed Van Dyck beard swung a 35-mm Nikon digital camera into action. The preferred customers “oohed” and “aahed” appreciatively.
On seeing the camera, Lilith and her entourage shifted about uneasily. Although they still had a few years before they would totally lose the ability to reflect and be photographed, they had been raised to be cautious in the presence of photographic equipment.
The photographer circled Gala like a satellite, his back to the other women in the room. As she watched the photographer click away, Lilith recognized him as the man who had approached her at D&G a couple of weeks earlier.
“Who’s the paparazzo?” Lula asked.
“That’s no pap, that’s Kristof,” Carmen explained.
“You know him?” Lilith asked, trying not to let her interest show.
“Not personally. He’s this hotshot photographer who’s done spreads with Iman, Kate Moss, and Kurkova. He’s been signed to work on the Maison d’Ombres launch. Speaking of which—what do you think of the clothes?”
Lilith glanced over at the racks full of sample clothing. The garments all seemed to be very well made, but they weren’t anything special. “I could vomit something more interesting,” she said with a shrug. “Did I mention that I’m to be the last debutante presented at the Grand Ball?”
“Several times,” Armida replied.
“I’m looking for something that will rivet every eye in that ballroom. After all, being the final presentation of the evening is very important. The Grand Ball can’t begin before I start the first dance of the night. I want a gown that signifies that importance.”
As she spoke, Lilith watched some girls come up to the model with paper and pen in hand, seeking autographs. The model scribbled her name, and her admirers eagerly bore the signatures away as if they were as precious as gold.
“I hear Gala signed a million-dollar contract with Maison d’Ombres to be their official model for the next year,” Lula whispered. “Spreads in ELLE, Vanity Fair, and Vogue…that kind of thing.”
“A million?” Lilith tapped her chin with a pearl-pink nail. “How old would you say she is?”
“Seventeen, I guess; maybe eighteen.”
“Would you say she’s prettier than me?”
“Uhhh…” Lula glanced about, not sure how to respond.
“Definitely not!” Carmen protested, quickly stepping into the void created by Lula’s gaffe. “You’re much prettier than her! Most models would kill for your looks!”
As Kristof continued to snap pictures, Lilith thought about how her wealth and popularity were not of her own making, but of her father’s. She was like the moon, which has no light of its own but merely reflects the light of the sun. Up until now, she had been content to remain within her father’s orbit, echoing his glory. But now that she knew she was not his only child, things no longer seemed as certain as they had before.
Perhaps it was time she started shining on her own.
CHAPTER TWO
Rest Haven was one of the few remaining private graveyards in Williamsburg. Behind its ancient brick wall sat an acre of quiet greenery and sun-bleached marble monuments. At night the wrought iron gate was secured against those who would profane the eternal slumber of its permanent residents. Of course, that is not to say the dead who made Rest Haven their final home did not receive callers now and then. Indeed, over the last few weeks the old cemetery had been paid frequent visits by a certain pair of young lovers seeking shelter from the outside world.
As Cally wound her way through the tombstones, she took a deep breath, savoring the smell of the autumn leaves. A fingernail moon hung in the clear October sky, signaling the end of what had been, despite the brief run-in with Lilith Todd, an excellent day. She glanced down at the single lavender Bergdorf’s bag she was carrying. Inside it was a matching La Perla Red Carpet bra-and-thong set that cost her almost $350. When she’d paid for the lingerie, she had done so with cash, handing over a fistful of twenties and tens to the saleslady. From the looks on Melinda’s and the twins’ faces it was clear they had never paid for anything without using plastic.
Still, despite the vast differences in their lifestyles, Cally really liked Melinda and the twins. And they seemed to genuinely like her as well. So it kind of bothered her that she’d spent the whole day lying to them.
Nobody likes getting lied to, but sometimes there’s no way around it, especially if you want to stay alive. Lying about being invited to the Grand Ball didn’t fall into the survival category. But the biggest lie of them all was actually more a secret: her boyfriend was a vampire hunter. And not just any vampire hunter, an actual Van Helsing. Peter, to be exact.
Yeah, being attracted to a man whose family was sworn to eradicate her race from the earth was beyond cliché, not to mention seriously unhealthy. But the moment she had seen Peter in the subway, she’d realized there was something between them. She wasn’t sure what it was, but the bond was as undeniable as it was forbidden. And it wasn’t just one way, either: Peter felt the same immediate attraction, going so far as to track her down after that first meeting in order to tell her how he felt. It was like there were magnets in their hearts that kept drawing them together, no matter how hard they fought against the pull. Whatever it was that drew them together—chemistry, destiny, lust, or fate—all Cally knew was that she couldn’t resist.
Being half vampire and half human, she had spent her entire life torn between two worlds, never truly belonging to either one. All those public service announcements telling kids to “just be yourself” made it sound so damned easy. But what if being “yourself” gets you beat up, or even killed, what then? Finally, with Peter, she had found someone with whom she didn’t have to pretend she was something she wasn’t. Sneaking off to be with Peter was like taking a vacation from her real life. When she was with him, she was free to talk about all kinds of things she never could before, like her curiosity about the true identity of her father and the mixture of aggravation and love she felt for her mother. When they were together, all the things that stressed her out seemed to melt away.
At first their rendezvous were infrequent. Now they could barely go a day without seeing each other—despite the danger to both of them should they be discovered.
As Cally approached the hawthorn tree that stood silent sentinel
over her grandparents’ graves, she spotted a red-and-black-plaid wool blanket spread out on the ground underneath its gnarled branches. Sitting in the middle of the blanket was an old-fashioned wicker picnic hamper. She stopped and looked around. Peter suddenly stepped out from behind one of the nearby monuments. He was older than Cally by a couple of years, with tousled reddish-brown hair and dark brown eyes.
“I thought it would be nice to have a picnic together while the weather’s still good,” he said with a sheepish smile.
“You really didn’t have to do something like this—but I’m glad you did!” Cally said, throwing her arms around his neck.
“I guess I’m just a romantic at heart,” he said as they sat down together on the blanket.
“So what kind of picnic did you pack?” Cally grinned, flipping open the lid of the hamper.
“Oh, a little bit of this, a little bit of that,” Peter replied. “Let’s see…we’ve got a mini-bottle of sparkling Blanc de Blanc, farmhouse biscuits, chocolate truffles…”
“What’s this?” Cally asked, holding up a stainless steel cylinder. “Coffee?”
“No.” Peter chuckled. “That’s for you. Go ahead and open it.”
Cally unscrewed the top of the gleaming thermos. Even before she looked inside, the smell told her of its contents. She looked up at Peter, who was watching her expectantly.
“Do you like it?” he asked.
“Peter—where did you get this?” she asked in an awed whisper.
“It came from the infirmary at the Institute.”
Cally screwed the cap back onto the thermos. “Are you sure about this, Peter?”
“They’ll never notice it’s gone,” he replied. “I hacked into Doc Willoughby’s computer and ‘corrected’ his inventory. He’ll never miss a spare pint of O positive.”
Peter reached up and cupped the back of her head in the palm of his hand, running his fingers through her short, dark hair. After a long moment, they finally broke their kiss and stared into each other’s eyes.
“You’re so beautiful, Cally. I wish I could show you off to the rest of the world.” Peter sighed as he stroked her cheek. “I know this little Italian place, with a strolling accordionist and opera singer, just like in Lady and the Tramp. It’s kinda cheesy, but it’s also wicked romantic, you know?”
“It sounds wonderful, Peter!” Cally smiled as she busied herself with opening the bottle of wine. “But I couldn’t really eat anything, no matter where we end up going. I mean, I could pretend to, like they’ve been teaching us at school. All I have to do is push my food around on my plate and sneak some of it into my napkin when nobody’s looking every now and then, just like anorexics and fashion models do.
“You know, it’s been years since I went on a picnic. It was up at Granny’s cabin in the Catskills. I could still eat solid food back then,” she said as she handed him a glass filled with the sparkling wine.
“Are you sure you can’t have any of this?” Peter asked, holding out one of the chocolate truffles.
Cally shook her head and pushed the proffered candy away. “If I try, I get sick. I’m on a liquid diet for the rest of my life.” She held up a glass identical to the one she’d given him, except this one was filled with chilled blood. “I propose a toast: to us!”
“To us!” Peter agreed. He touched the rim of his wineglass to hers, only to look away at the last moment as Cally drank. “So—how was your day?”
“It was great—but you don’t really want to hear about it because it was mostly shopping.”
“You’re right about that part.” Peter chuckled. “You didn’t run into any handsome young vampires while you were at it?”
“Are you kidding? Vampire guys aren’t that different from the rest of you! But I did have a run-in with Lilith Todd.”
Peter froze. “Victor Todd’s daughter?”
“You know who Victor Todd is?” Cally asked, surprised.
“I know the names of all the major Old Blood families in this city,” he replied. “Especially the Todds.”
“Really? Did I tell you Lilith totally tried to kill me at school?”
“I’m not surprised,” Peter said darkly. “The Todds have a mean streak. I should know. Victor murdered my grandfather Leland.”
“Oh, Peter! I’m so sorry!” Cally gasped, placing a hand on his arm.
“Todd killed him right in front of my dad. He was about my age when it happened. If it hadn’t been for your grandmother Sina, my dad probably would have been killed, too. So, in a way, she’s responsible for me being alive.”
“That’s so weird.” Cally shook her head in disbelief. “I’m still trying to get my brain around Granny being a vampire hunter, back in the day.”
“That’s weirder than her being a witch?”
“Hey, I knew she was a witch. That was never a secret from me. Besides, I’m a half vampire, so being a witch isn’t that weird.”
“Point taken.”
There was a long silence, and then Cally glanced back up at Peter, an anxious look on her face. “Is your dad still trying to find me?”
“Don’t worry; he doesn’t know where you live or anything like that.”
“Yeah, but you managed to track me down, didn’t you?”
“I changed the files after I hacked into the database. According to the New York State graves registry, your grandparents are now interred at Woodlawn Cemetery, up in the Bronx. You have nothing to worry about, Cally, I promise.” Peter smiled, giving her hand a comforting squeeze.
“Have you discovered why he’s so obsessed with capturing me?”
Peter shook his head. “Just because I’m his son, that doesn’t mean he tells me anything about his plans.”
“I know how that goes.” Cally sighed, rolling her eyes. She snuggled in close to him, savoring the warmth of his body pressed against hers. “Peter—do you think there’s a place for us in this world?”
“Yes,” he said as he gently stroked her hair. “There has to be. Why would we have found each other like we did if there was no hope for happiness for us? Life can’t be that cruel. Maybe we could run away together to someplace where no one knows who we are. Or better yet, some remote island paradise where the people have never even heard of vampires or vampire hunters. We could make love on the beach every night. How does that sound?”
“Like a dream.” As she rested her head on his shoulder, Cally pictured herself and Peter walking hand in hand along a shore as white as sugar, watching the moonlight reflect across the ocean. She kissed his neck, savoring his musky smell and the salty taste of his skin on her lips. She felt a rising heat in her belly, born of lust instead of hunger. Even though they had grown increasingly intimate over the last couple of weeks, Cally had yet to taste Peter’s blood for fear of losing control and accidentally draining him. Besides, she didn’t want to be the first to broach the subject. If he offered up his throat for a love bite, she would have to rethink things. However, she did not want to put pressure on him. After all, it was his blood. Still, there were moments when he was sitting so close, she could feel the blood rushing through his arteries and veins. If she listened really hard, she could almost hear it calling out to her, tempting her to take just one sip…. What could it hurt? Besides, you know he wants it, too.…Cally shuddered, forcing her thoughts from the path they were on.
“Is something wrong?” Peter asked, unaware of what had been running through her mind.
“No,” she lied. “I was just thinking about what you said about your grandfather. I never knew there was so much bad blood between the Van Helsings and the Todds. It sounds like the vendettas that go on between vampire families. You must really hate the Todds.”
“Just the ones who deserve it,” he replied.
As Cally entered the lobby of her apartment building, she spotted Mr. Dithers, the chairman of the condo association, emptying his trash into the incinerator chute. She walked as fast as she could toward the elevator, praying it was sitting on the
lobby level for once instead of hanging around on the seventh floor. She punched the call button and, to her relief, the doors parted instantly.
“Miss Monture—! A moment, please?”
Cally turned to find Mr. Dithers standing at her elbow, his Coke-bottle glasses making his over-magnified eyes appear to be hovering in front of his face.
“We’ve been getting complaints from the tenants on either side of your unit—and those on the floors above and below as well, to be frank—about the noise from your home entertainment center. I’ve already sent two warning notices to your mother….”
“I realize that, Mr. Dithers,” Cally said apologetically. “I’m really sorry. I’ll talk to my mother about keeping it down—”
“It’s not that I have anything against you personally, Cally. I know you try the best you can, but the noise ordinances are built into the covenants of the condo board. If this continues, we’ll have no choice but to fine your mother two hundred dollars for each new complaint.”
“There’s no need to get drastic,” Cally assured him. “I’ll take care of the situation, I promise.”
“I certainly hope so, Miss Monture.”
As the elevator doors opened onto her floor, Cally was relieved she could not hear whatever movie her mother was watching from halfway down the hall. She unlocked the door and stepped inside the apartment. The combination kitchen-dining area was dark, save for the faint bluish-white light from the living room.
“Mom—? I just ran into Mr. Dithers again,” Cally announced as she set her purse on the breakfast bar.
Cally’s mother was seated on a red velvet chaise lounge, watching the hi-def plasma flat screen hung on the living room wall. As she entered the room, Cally realized why everything was so uncharacteristically quiet: her mother was watching F. W. Murnau’s classic silent film Nosferatu.
Night Life Page 2