“Hey, cuz—you busy?”
Jules glanced up as his cousin Xander stuck his head into the room. “Nah, not really.” He shrugged, hitting pause on the game. “S’up, dude?”
“I, uh, just got back from the Central Scrivenery, and I thought I ought to tell you first before you heard it from someone else….”
“Tell me what?” Jules frowned.
“Well, while I was doing research at the scrivenery, I ran into this girl I know. And one thing led to another, and, well, she asked me to be her escort for the Grand Ball.”
“Congratulations, Exo!” Jules grinned. “I told you not to give up hope! Who’s the lucky deb? Is it that Usher chick?”
“Nooo,” Xander said uneasily, rubbing the back of his neck. “It’s not her.”
“Who is it, then? Don’t keep me guessing. It’s got to be one of the spods from Bathory if you ran into her at the Central Scrivenery, right?”
“Not necessarily,” Xander said defensively. “A lot of people besides spods use the Central Scrivenery.”
“Oh, yeah?” Jules smirked. “Like who?”
“Like Lilith.”
The game controller dropped from Jules’s hands as if his fingers had suddenly turned to stone. “You’re shitting me.”
“Urlok as my witness, Lilith was there. And she asked me to be her escort.”
“You’re tripping, right?” Jules said, getting to his feet. “I mean, there is no way Lilith would ever set foot inside the Central Scrivenery. And I know she already had an escort lined up for the Grand Ball: Barnabas Barlow, the captain of Ruthven’s flight team.”
“Not anymore,” Xander said with a sly grin.
“What did you do to Lilith to make her pick you over Barlow?” Jules asked suspiciously. “Did you put a charm on her?”
“I would never use sorcery on a fellow vampire,” Xander replied, a wounded look on his face. “You know me better than that. Is it that incredible to you that Lilith would change her mind in favor of me?”
“You want me to be honest? Yes! And you know it, Xander! So what did you do?”
“If you must know, I kind of, uh, used extortion. She wanted me to help her with her alchemy homework for the rest of the school year. I told her I’d do it but only if she let me be her escort.”
“Blood of the Founders!” Jules snarled. “Lilith was right about you after all. You do have the hots for her!”
“Jules, everything with a pulse has the hots for Lilith! That’s never bothered you before.” Xander shook his head in amazement. “Besides, I thought you’d be relieved that Barlow wouldn’t be her escort. The jerk’s middle name is practically ‘Date Rape.’”
“Barlow isn’t my friend!” Jules responded heatedly. “You are.”
“It’s not like you could escort her yourself, anyway. If I didn’t know better, I’d say you were jealous.”
“Jealous?” Jules snorted derisively. “What do I have to be jealous of?”
“If you’re not jealous, then why are you acting like this? I thought you might be surprised by the news, but I didn’t think you’d be angry.”
“I thought I could trust you, Xander,” Jules replied sullenly.
“Trust? Ha! That’s a good one, coming from you,” Xander said with a humorless laugh. “You’re the one who’s always fooling around behind Lilith’s back.”
“That has nothing to do with this, and you know it,” Jules snapped. “Now get on the phone and call her and tell her you changed your mind.”
“What?”
“Tell her you’re not going to tutor her and she can go to the Grand Ball with Barlow instead.”
“Jules, if I don’t help her with her studies, she’s gonna flunk out. Is that what you really want?”
“I don’t care if she flunks or not! I just want you to stay away from her!”
Xander fixed his cousin with a black stare, the last hint of affability draining from his face and voice. “It’s because I’m an Orlock, isn’t it? I thought you at least were different, but Uncle Vanya was right: you de Lavals are all the same. You can’t accept the fact that Dad didn’t have to use a potion or a charm or a spell on Mom to make her marry him. Still, that doesn’t keep your family from coveting the Orlock bloodright and wealth, does it?”
“Exo, wait—you’ve got it all wrong,” Jules said, placing a hand on his cousin’s shoulder, only to have Xander shrug it off. “You know me better than that….”
“That’s the trouble, Jules, I do know you,” Xander replied icily. Reaching inside his book bag with his spidery fingers, he tossed a parchment scroll onto the foot of Jules’s bed. “There’s your homework assignment for Professor Frid’s alchemy class. From now on, you’re on your own. I wouldn’t bother buying a new snowboard for Vail if I were you.”
“Exo! C’mon, cuz! Don’t do me like that.” Jules laughed nervously, trying to fight the panic rising in his gut as Xander turned and headed out the door.
“See you at the Grand Ball,” Xander replied, shutting the bedroom door behind him without a backward glance.
CHPATER FIFTEEN
“Cally! Hurry up!” Sheila Monture shouted down the hall to her daughter. “Your date should be here any minute.”
Cally emerged from the bathroom, blotting her lipstick on a folded piece of toilet paper. “Baron Metzger’s not my date, Mom—he’s supposed to be my father!”
“You know what I mean,” Sheila replied. “Just hurry up and finish your makeup so I can take your picture in the living room.”
“Mom!” Cally said, rolling her eyes in exasperation.
“What?” Sheila said as she loaded the film into her Polaroid camera. “A mother can’t take a photo of her only daughter before she leaves for her debutante ball?”
“A vampire mother can’t!”
“Well, for once I’m glad I’m not one of them,” Sheila replied. “Although I do wish I could go with you.” Sheila glanced over at the framed picture of her late parents, which sat on a bookshelf in the living room. “It’s a shame your grandparents weren’t here for this.”
Cally wrinkled her nose and raised an eyebrow. “Somehow I don’t think Granny would have liked the idea of my being a debutante at the Rauhnacht Ball.”
“Your grandfather certainly wouldn’t have. But even though your grandmother tried to raise you outside vampire culture as much as possible, she knew there would come a time when you would have to choose. And she would have loved you no matter how you decided to live your life.” She took a deep, hitching breath and looked into her daughter’s eyes. “Cally, I know I’ve made a lot of mistakes…but you were never one of them. I realize I’m not the kind of mother a girl like you should be proud of, but a moment hasn’t gone by since you were born that I haven’t been proud of you.”
Cally blinked rapidly. “Mom, you’re going to make me ruin my makeup!” she said with a choked little half laugh as she fanned at her eyes.
“Oh! I’m sorry, sweetie,” Sheila said apologetically. “I’ll go fetch a tissue—put that back!” Sheila abruptly hurried across the living room and snatched a framed photograph out of Walther’s hands and pressed it protectively against her breasts. “That does not get packed with the rest of the bric-a-brac!
It travels with me and no one else!”
The undead stared as if she was speaking Urdu and moved to reclaim the photograph.
“Cally!” Sheila yelled over her shoulder, a fearful look on her face. “Tell him to leave me alone.”
“Walther!” Cally shouted at the undead as if he was a dog scooting on the rug. “My mother will take care of the photograph. Go help Sinclair prepare for the movers.”
“As you wish, young mistress,” Walther replied.
Cally shook her head as she watched the undead servant walk out of the room. Although they gave her the creeps, she had to admit they had their uses. They had already managed to pack almost everything in the apartment. She stared at the cardboard boxes neatly lined against the wal
l: their life in Williamsburg, ready to be packed into a nondescript moving van and driven to the docks, where they would be loaded on a freighter headed for the Baltic Sea.
“Okay, say B negative!” Sheila said, pointing the Polaroid at her daughter.
Cally forced the corners of her mouth up in an approximation of a smile as her mother snapped her picture. Suddenly the door buzzer sounded.
“Oh! That’s him!” Sheila said excitedly. She waved the still-developing Polaroid like a Southern belle having the vapors at her spring cotillion. “Quick! Get your wrap. And your purse. And don’t forget your invitation! You’ll have to show that to the major domo once you arrive.”
“Stop freaking out; I’ve got everything, Mom,” Cally said, holding up her purse and invitation so Sheila could see them. “Please, you’ve got to go to your room now.”
Sheila nodded her understanding and grudgingly headed down the hallway. She turned to give her daughter a sad little smile.
“You’ll be careful, won’t you, baby? Stay away from Lilith as much as you can, okay?”
“I intend to. Besides, she kept her distance the last few nights, so I’m not expecting a lot of trouble from her tonight,” Cally assured her. Of course, she had made a point of not telling her mother that her escort was Lilith’s boyfriend. She didn’t view it as lying as much as keeping Sheila from freaking out. “I’ll meet you at JFK when it’s over and tell you all about it.”
“And don’t leave out the juicy stuff!” Sheila laughed as she closed the door of her bedroom behind her.
Satisfied her mother was safely out of sight, Cally hurried to answer the door as fast as her high heels permitted.
“Welcome to our home, Baron Metzger.”
Standing six foot four, with shoulders as broad as those of a linebacker, Baron Karl Metzger looked every inch the European nobleman. Appearing to be in his early fifties, his chiseled features were accentuated by steel-gray hair that he wore brushed back from his broad forehead like a lion’s mane.
“Good evening, Miss Monture,” he said, his voice a velvety baritone. “Your father was right—you are a most striking young lady. That is a lovely gown you are wearing, my dear!” Baron Metzger eyed the black off-the-shoulder charmeuse gown with its A-line skirt, pleated bust, and ruby brooch. “Where did you get it?”
“I made it myself,” Cally admitted with a shy smile.
“Indeed?” Baron Metzger’s eyebrow came up even farther. “Your father said you were beautiful, but he said nothing of you being gifted as well. I know a thing or two about fashion. Once you are safely away from New York, I shall make a point of introducing you to my business partner, Nazaire.”
Cally gasped in surprise. “You mean the designer, Nazaire d’Ombres? He’s one of you—I mean, us?”
Baron Metzger nodded. “Indeed he is. He could definitely use input from someone like you right now!”
“That would be incredible!” Cally said, barely able to contain her excitement. “Thank you, Baron Metzger! Oh, and thank you for pretending to be my dad, too.”
Baron Metzger bowed his head, placing a hand over his heart. “As vassal to your father, I am his to command.”
“You work for my dad?”
“In a way. I swore fealty to your grandfather, Adolphus Todesking, nearly four hundred years ago, after he defeated my father, Kurt, and usurped the Metzger bloodright. I am now eternally bound to his descendants.”
“Oh,” Cally said, her smile suddenly losing some of its previous sparkle. If there was anything more disconcerting than being waited on by the undead, who were humans her ancestors had more or less murdered, it was pretending a former enemy was her father.
“Come, my dear, it’s time we go. We still have a lengthy drive out to Count Orlock’s estate.”
“Yes, Baron,” Cally replied, gathering up her things.
“My, you are a polite child for this day and age,” Baron Metzger said approvingly. “But from here on, perhaps it would be wiser if you called me Father.”
When she heard the door shut behind Cally, Sheila Monture returned to the living room and sat on the chaise lounge while Walther and Sinclair disassembled her bedroom suite and prepared it for transatlantic shipping and storage. She reached underneath the chaise’s red velvet skirting, pulled out a half-empty bottle of Ancient Age, and started drinking. The flat-screen TV and home theater system were already wrapped in layers of bubble wrap, awaiting the arrival of the movers. Tonight she’d be content to look at the photo of her parents she had rescued from Walther.
“I’m sorry, Daddy,” Sheila said. “I wish you knew that.” The tears trickling down her face mingled with the bourbon, giving it a mildly salty taste.
As she raised the bottle again, Sheila heard a muffled ringing sound. It seemed to be coming from Cally’s room.
A cell phone? Since when did Cally have a cell phone? Sheila got to her feet and headed, somewhat unsteadily, for her daughter’s bedroom, where she found a small silver phone lying forgotten, buried under the rumpled sheets of the canopy bed.
Sheila stared at the caller ID, trying to see who it was, but the incoming caller’s identity was blocked. She flipped open the phone and put the receiver to her ear.
“Cally, thank God I reached you in time!” a young male voice said breathlessly. “You have to believe me—I never intended for it to end like this! Please forgive me. I was so afraid I was going to lose you forever! Don’t hang up. Please…I know you don’t want to talk to me, but you’ve got to listen!”
“Who is this?” Sheila scowled.
“Cally?” The timbre of the young man’s voice suddenly changed from desperate to cautious.
“This is Cally’s mother, and Cally isn’t here,” Sheila said in a stern voice. “She left to go to the Grand Ball with Baron Metz—I mean, her father.”
“God, no—!” The young man gasped. “You’ve got to stop them, Ms. Monture! You’ve got to reach her and tell her not to go!”
“I know who you are!” Sheila said in sudden realization. “You’re that no-good Maledetto boy. You’ve got some nerve calling here. Leave my daughter alone! She doesn’t need to get mixed up with a bunch of two-bit killers.”
“Sheila! Please, you don’t understand—!” The young man’s voice was close to panic. “You’re both in danger! You have to get out of the house!”
“How do you know my name?” Sheila frowned. “Go away and leave my baby alone, you hear me? She doesn’t need you complicating her life!” She snapped the cell phone shut and tossed it back onto the bed. As she stepped out of her daughter’s room, there was a loud, booming knock on the front door, followed by a second, even louder one. No doubt it was the movers come to collect their things.
“Hold your horses, I’m coming!” Sheila yelled. Whoever was on the other side of the door sounded like they were using a battering ram instead of their fists. “There’s no need to knock the door off its hinges—!”
Although she had not been raised in vampire society, Cally knew that Rauhnacht was one of a handful of dates held sacred by her father’s people. Throughout the world, Old Bloods and New Bloods alike were gathered that night to welcome the arrival of the Dark Season, where the nights are longer than the days, as they had done for thousands of years.
Scores of prominent Old Bloods had traveled from as far as half a world away to view the newest crop of young females at the palatial home of Count Boris Orlock.
Situated at the end of a two-mile-long driveway, King’s Stone seemed to rise like some great leviathan from the nearby Atlantic Ocean. The four stone towers of the modern-day castle stood watch over the cardinal points of the compass. As Baron Metzger’s vintage Duesenberg wended its way along the Orlocks’ private drive, Cally spotted a topiary garden. At first she smiled at the sight of the shrubbery clipped to resemble animals and mythic beasts—then she realized that the topiary animals were divided into predator and prey. An arborvitae lion stalked a bay laurel gazelle, while a myrtle wolf hunte
d a sheep sculpted of yew, and a dragon made of holly brought down a boxwood pig.
As Cally stared at the grim tableaux, something white flashed at the corner of her eye and she turned her head to see what it might be. A man was staggering through the hedges, his clothes badly disheveled. He was wildly waving a white cane with a red tip.
“Help me!” the blind man cried in terror. “For the love of all that’s holy, somebody please help me!”
A gang of small children swarmed out from behind the topiary wolf, giggling and laughing as if on a McDonald’s playground. As one, they surged forward and took the blind man to the ground. Cally quickly looked away as they snapped at their struggling prey with their razor-sharp baby fangs.
“Ahhh, blindman’s bluff!” Baron Metzger said with a nostalgic smile. “To be young and innocent again!”
As the baron’s car entered the cobblestone courtyard, an undead servant dressed in the livery of a footman hurried forward and opened the passenger door for Cally.
Baron Metzger took her hand and wrapped it around his arm, and together they began to climb the entry stairs of King’s Stone. Cally looked up and glimpsed what appeared to be a gargoyle perched high atop the conical roof of the north tower.
The Orlocks’ major domo, a bald man with a Prussian accent and a dueling scar, stood guard in the foyer, checking the credentials of all who entered his master’s home. Cally handed him her invitation, which he took and added to a pile on the table beside him.
“Welcome to King’s Stone,” the head butler said. “The guests are gathered in the Grand Hall.”
As Cally and Baron Metzger walked forward, a pair of servants in Orlock livery opened the large double doors at the other end of the room. Cally gasped in awe at the sight of the Grand Hall spread before her. It was thirty-five feet wide and seventy feet long, with a vaulted ceiling that rose to the third floor. The walls of the great hall were lined with red damask and draped with tapestries dating back to the twelfth century. Gathered within its vast space were nearly three hundred vampires, chatting and laughing among themselves as they sampled the blood gushing from solid-gold heated beverage fountains, one for each blood type, arrayed along a medieval banquet table that stretched half the length of the room.
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