Night Life

by Nancy A. Collins

  “Yes, sir! Right away, sir!”

  “Now!”

  As Cally watched Muerto and his gang screech in fear and instantly take wing, she was reminded of the flying monkeys from The Wizard of Oz.

  “Are you all right, Miss Monture?” the younger man asked.

  “I’m okay, I guess. But how do you know my name? Have we met before?”

  “No. But I know who you are, Cally,” the stranger said, flashing a warm smile. “After all, my sisters have done nothing but talk about you for the last few days.”

  “Your sisters—?”

  Running his fingers through his excellent haircut, he straightened the lapels of his Armani suit. “Allow me to introduce myself: I am Faustus Maledetto. But you can call me Lucky. And this is my driver, Bava.”

  “Maledetto? Then you’re Bella and Bette’s—?”

  “Older brother?” He laughed and nodded. “Yes, I am. I just happened to be about on business, as it were, when I saw your predicament.”

  “How did you know it was me?”

  “I saw the lightning strike,” he explained. “There are no other fledglings in the city who can do such a thing.”

  Cally lifted an eyebrow in surprise. “So your father’s talked about me as well?”

  “Of course,” Lucky replied. “Ours is, after all, a family business.”

  There was a loud rattling sound and Cally turned to see Johnny Muerto trotting up the alley, pushing the laundry cart as fast as it could go.

  “H-here’s the clothes, sir!”

  “Don’t bring them to me, you moron! They belong to her!” Lucky said, winking at Cally.

  “Sorry, sir,” Muerto said sheepishly, turning to Cally. “I mean, I’m sorry, miss. I folded them as best I could—”

  Lucky stepped forward and grabbed Muerto by the scruff of the neck. “Hear me, Muerto, for I have no intention of repeating myself on this matter: this girl is under protection of the Strega. If you, or one of your pathetic followers, so much as look in her direction again, I’ll rip off your head, savvy?”

  “Y-yes, sir,” Muerto stammered.

  “Good.” Lucky shoved the gang leader aside, taking out a crimson silk handkerchief from his breast pocket to wipe his hands. “Now get out of my sight.”

  “Yes, sir.” Muerto bowed as he backed his way down the alley. “You are most merciful, sir.”

  “I despise that little scarafaggio,” Lucky spat as he watched Muerto scuttle back to his gang. “If it were up to me, I would have destroyed him.” He turned to his driver and pointed at the laundry cart. “Bava, put Miss Monture’s things in the trunk.”

  “Hey! What’s going on?” Cally asked as Lucky’s undead servant popped open the trunk of the Lexus.

  “There’s no need to be alarmed,” Lucky assured her. “The least I can do is drive you home.”

  Cally was not sure whether she should accept Lucky’s offer. Even though he was her friends’ older brother, he was also one of the Strega and therefore a very dangerous man. Besides, she did have a boyfriend, even if she couldn’t tell anyone he existed. Peter might not appreciate her taking rides from this handsome young guy.

  Still, there was something about Lucky Maledetto that intrigued her. Cally glanced at her watch. She was running late and the man did just rescue her. Under such circumstances, it would be terribly rude to turn down his offer—wouldn’t it?

  “Here you are, safe at home,” Lucky said, turning around to smile at Cally.

  “Thanks for the ride, Lucky.”

  “It was nothing. It’s good to finally put a face to a name. You’re even prettier than my sisters said.”

  “Thanks.” Cally could feel her cheeks turning pink. “I’m glad we met tonight, too, Lucky. I don’t know what would have happened if you hadn’t been there.”

  “I’m just glad I could be of some assistance, that’s all. Speaking of which, doesn’t your family have undead to handle errands, instead of placing you at risk?”

  “It’s hard to keep undead servants in a two-bedroom condo, I’m afraid.”

  “I’m sorry, that was insensitive of me,” he apologized. “I forget that not everyone lives the lifestyle my family does, even those with Old Blood pedigrees. I can send Bava to help get your laundry to your apartment if you like.”

  “No! No! There’s no need to do that,” Cally replied as she climbed out of the car. “You’ve done more than enough already. Please give my best to your family.”

  As she turned to go inside the building, Cally glanced up and saw the curtain covering her living room window suddenly drop back into place.

  Oh, boy.

  Her mother was waiting for her just inside the door. “What are you doing getting mixed up with the Strega?”

  “You’re spying on me, aren’t you!” Cally replied angrily.

  “It’s not spying if I just happened to be looking out the window!” Sheila retorted. “And you still haven’t told me what you were doing getting out of a car full of Strega goons.”

  “They weren’t goons!” Cally replied. “At least, not all of them.”

  “That man I saw unloading our laundry from the trunk of the car—is that who you’ve been seeing?”

  Cally rolled her eyes in disgust. “You’ve got to be kidding, right? Do you really think that’s the kind of guy I’d go for? Besides, he’s undead!”

  “What about the one who waved at you? Who’s that? Vinnie Maledetto’s son?”

  “So what if it was?” Cally said testily as she trundled the laundry cart down the hallway. “Lucky gave me a lift back home, that’s all. He was just being nice because I go to school with his sisters.”

  “You hang out with Vinnie Maledetto’s kids?” Sheila gasped, a stunned look on her face.

  “Duh, yeah! They’re my friends, Mom. Bella and Bette, remember? I went to Bergdorf’s with them yesterday.”

  “You only told me their first names!” Sheila protested. “You never said they were Maledettos!”

  “I didn’t think it mattered,” Cally grunted as she removed the folded laundry from the cart onto her bed. “Maybe if you paid half as much attention to me as you do to your stupid vampire movies, you’d know what was going on in my life!”

  “That’s who you’ve been sneaking off to see, isn’t it?” Sheila said accusingly. “The Maledetto boy! Don’t lie to me. I know it’s true!”

  Over the years Cally had learned that it was far easier to tell her mother whatever it was she wanted to hear rather than try to reason with her. On those rare occasions when her mother felt compelled to interfere in her life, she was like a terrier going after a rat. Better she believe a lie than know the truth.

  “Okay!” Cally sighed. “Yes! I’ve been sneaking off to see Lucky Maledetto! There! Are you happy now?”

  The look of consternation on Sheila’s face was replaced by alarm. “Cally, you’ve got to promise me that you’ll never see that boy again! And you have to stop being friends with his sisters, too! Vincent Maledetto is the sworn enemy of your father!” Sheila said. “There is a vendetta between your bloodlines!”

  “Why should that matter to me?” Cally snapped. “I don’t even know who my father really is!”

  “Cally, you have to believe me! The Maledettos are nothing more than assassins and thieves!”

  “That might be true,” Cally replied, pulling herself free of her mother’s grip. “But at least Vinnie Maledetto is actually involved in his kids’ lives, okay? He cares about them! That’s more than I can say about my dad—whoever the hell he is!”

  “But your father—”

  “My father can rot in hell for all I care!” Cally snapped. “If he doesn’t want me to have anything to do with the Maledettos, he can get off his ass and tell me himself, face-to-face. Otherwise, he can go screw! Go back to your movie, Mom. I’ve got to get changed.”

  “But—”

  “Get out of my room!”

  Sheila flinched visibly and then scurried out of the room. Cally
slammed the door after her.

  Sheila crossed the hall into the master bedroom, locking the door behind her. She sat down on her bed and picked up the phone. In the nearly seventeen years since he had walked out on her to return to his wife, she had only called him one time: to inform him that Cally’s grandmother was dead. All other contact had been initiated by him. They had agreed it was safer that way.

  After five rings, a cultured British voice came on the line. It was his manservant, of course.

  “Curtis? It’s Sheila. Tell him we’ve got trouble.”

  CHAPTER FIVE

  “There you are, princess!”

  Lilith was on her way out when her father called her. “What is it, Dad?” she sighed.

  Victor Todd took in the purple wool sheath dress with black-and-white patent leather trim and the red soles of the Louboutin pumps his daughter was wearing. “Very nice!” he said, nodding in approval. “Are you going out with Jules tonight?”

  “I’m meeting him at the Belfry,” Lilith said. It wasn’t exactly a lie, but it wasn’t the truth, either. She glanced at the Patek Philippe watch on her wrist. “Did you want to ask me something, Dad? Because I need to be somewhere and I’m running late….”

  “I just wanted to remind you that your mother is flying in from Monte Carlo for your debut at the Grand Ball. Her flight should arrive at JFK before dawn.”

  “Wonderful,” Lilith groaned, far from thrilled by the news. “I can’t wait.”

  She surveyed her father. He was still unaware she knew the truth about Cally, and Lilith wanted to keep it that way for as long as possible. Up until the moment she tasted her sister’s blood, Lilith had been content to play the part chosen for her by her family. But now she knew her father had lied to her from the moment she was born, stringing her along with promises of power and privilege. She felt like some pathetic clot gulled into surrendering her blood in exchange for immortality, only to discover it included an eternity of servitude. It was only fair she get back at him by secretly rattling his cage, and it was easier for her to manipulate the situation if she didn’t tip her hand. Besides, she enjoyed the feeling that came with knowing something her father did not know. It made her feel powerful.

  “Oh, by the way, Dad, I almost forgot to mention it—but I had a bit of a run-in with the Maledetto twins yesterday.”

  Victor’s smile disappeared. “Where?”

  “Bergdorf’s.”

  “Were they alone?”

  Lilith shook her head. “Melinda and the New Blood were with them.”

  “What New Blood?” Victor frowned.

  “You know, the stormgatherer I told you about,” Lilith replied casually. “The one that got Tanith killed.”

  “This New Blood is associating with the Maledettos?”

  Lilith had to fight to keep from giggling. Her father was trying sooo hard to make it look like he wasn’t deliberately pumping her for information. Judging by the scowl on his face, he had been completely unaware of his little love child’s taste in friends.

  “They’re thick as thieves. In fact, one of the Maledettos’ drivers has been dropping the newbie off and picking her up from school.”

  “What could Vinnie Maledetto possibly want from this girl?” Victor mused aloud, his brow so deeply furrowed it looked like it was folded in on itself.

  The head butler, Curtis, suddenly appeared in the doorway.

  “Sorry to interrupt, Master, but there’s an urgent call for you. It concerns the Williamsburg branch.”

  “Tell them I’ll be right there.” Victor turned back to Lilith, flashing her a wan smile. “Sorry, princess—I’m afraid I have some business I simply must attend to. I hope you enjoy yourself tonight.”

  “Don’t worry, Dad.” She smiled. “I already am.”

  The taxi smelled like ass, and the driver was so ugly he made an Orlock look good, but Lilith did not dare use the family chauffeur on her little jaunt to Tribeca.

  As she rode up the elevator of the six-story brick warehouse that had been converted into loft space for stockbrokers, lawyers, and at least one fashion photographer, she could not resist using the stainless steel surface of the elevator doors to primp herself one last time.

  “Welcome to my humble abode.” Kristof smiled as he opened the door.

  “Wow,” Lilith said, staring up at the twenty-foot ceiling of the photographer’s living room and work space. “I’ve never seen a loft where the person living in it also worked out of it!”

  “You mean you’ve never been in a real loft before.” Kristof chuckled as he helped her out of her black leather coat. “I was living here before Tribeca became trendy. The realtors basically had to do the conversion around me.”

  Lilith walked around the cavernous space full of backdrops, cameras, tripods, lighting stands, and photogenic umbrellas. She came to a stop in front of a wheeled wardrobe rack packed with costumes, hats, and other accessories.

  “Do you do all your work here?” she asked.

  “Only private shoots, like for friends or models who hire me to shoot their comp cards. You know, business cards,” he explained on seeing the blank look in his guest’s eyes. “So, tell me about yourself, Lili….”

  “Like what?” she asked as she pulled a feather boa off the rack and began arranging it around her neck.

  “How about your last name, for starters?” Kristof suggested, picking up one of his cameras.

  “My last name?” Lilith froze, careful to keep her face turned so he couldn’t see the panic in her eyes. She did not dare give him her real name. But she couldn’t call herself Smith or Jones or something bogus like that. It had to sound authentic, but not so distinctive it could be easily traced. Suddenly it came to her. “It’s Graves. Lili Graves.” Surely Tanith wouldn’t mind Lilith using her surname as a secret tribute.

  “Pleased to make your acquaintance, Miss Graves,” Kristof replied, snapping a shot of her with the feather boa draped about her shoulders. “Have you been photographed before?”

  “Never.”

  Kristof obviously meant whether she had ever posed for a professional photographer before, but in this case Lilith was telling the honest truth. She was almost seventeen years old and there were no baby pictures, no vacation snapshots of her skiing in the Alps, no Polaroids of birthday parties, no home movies of her celebrating Long Night, the most important holiday of the vampire calendar. There was absolutely no photographic evidence of any kind to prove she ever existed. Nothing. Nada. Zilch.

  “So, are you a student?”

  “Yes.”

  “Hunter or NYU?”

  He thinks I’m a college student! Lilith had to pull the corners of her mouth down to keep from smiling. “Columbia, actually.” She folded her arms, giving him a quizzical look, which he promptly snapped a picture of. “Have we started the shoot?”

  “Not exactly,” Kristof admitted. “How old are you? Eighteen? Nineteen?”

  “Eighteen.” It was another lie, of course, but what was one more on top of all the others?

  “Are you new to the city?”

  “No, I’ve lived here all my life—look, are you going to keep playing Twenty Questions?” she asked impatiently. “Because I’m really not comfortable telling you anything else about me right now. The only reason I called you is because I saw you with that model the other day. That’s when I realized you were for real and not just some perv.”

  “I understand. You’re a beautiful girl. It’s a dangerous world. I’m sure you have strange men coming on to you all the time,” Kristof said smoothly, a hint of admiration in his voice. “It’s just that whenever I shoot someone I’ve never worked with before, I like to take a few casual shots to get a feel for how they move and hold themselves. The questions are a means of breaking the ice and getting familiar with you before I start shouting directions while shoving a honking-huge camera lens into your face. So…you were at the trunk show the other day? Funny, I did not see you there.”

  “I’m not
surprised. You were utterly focused on that Gala bitch.”

  Kristof lowered his camera while raising an eyebrow. “You know her, then?”

  “No,” Lilith said quickly. “But I overheard her in the ladies’ room, talking to a girl who asked her for modeling tips. She said some pretty mean things to her.”

  “Yes, well, the fashion world is full of divas, both in front of and behind the cameras.” Kristof sighed. “Why don’t we go ahead and get started for real?” He pointed to one corner of the loft, where a white backdrop stood in front of the exposed brick wall.

  “So what do you want me to do?” Lilith asked.

  “Just stand there for the time being until I get the lighting adjusted,” he replied.

  As the hot overhead light came on, Lilith instinctively raised a hand to shield her eyes. “Is that really necessary?” she asked.

  “Only if you want to look like something other than a shadow. Besides, you have truly gorgeous hair and the most amazing eyes I’ve ever seen, and I want to properly highlight those features on film.”

  “You really mean that?” Lilith asked. Her threshold tolerance for flattery was so high that normally anything short of adoration failed to register on her ego. But there was something about Kristof that made even the slightest compliment feel like the highest of praise.

  “Hold that feeling, whatever it is!” Kristof said excitedly, bringing his camera back up. “Your face looks like it’s glowing! It is sooo completely real!”

  “Really?”

  “I told you I never lie unless I’m in love—and even then, not until the third date!”

  “You’re terrible!” She giggled.

  “That’s it! Toss your head back—let me see that wonderful hair of yours fly!” Kristof reached over and switched on the fan next to him, aiming the airflow in such a way that it moved through Lilith’s honey-blond locks like a gentle summer breeze. “Okay, Lili—I want you to imagine that there’s an invisible thread pulling your head back and your chin up. No, higher. Higher. That’s it! Stop! Perfect! Look at that long, beautiful neck!”