Vasily was at the concierge desk again that afternoon, and was happy to recommend a direction for Rose’s outing and to call a car for her.
Gostiny Dvor took up an entire city block and contained a fascinating mix of Russian goods and western merchandise, all crowded together in an overwhelming blur of color and noise. Rose spent hours wandering through stalls, enraptured by luxurious furs, exotic amber, and jewel-toned painted lacquer boxes.
Even on a Monday morning, the shopping district was crowded, which was its own relief. Once enough people surrounded Rose, their feelings all blended together into something like white noise—loud, but neutral. Nothing like the sharp, jagged weirdness of Nazeem or Ian’s wild assault on her awareness. None of the people around her stood out. Rose had to hope she blended similarly.
Because even with one hand clenched around the platinum card in her coat pocket, Rose felt out of place in these stores that sold jewelry and designer make-up and art that wasn’t mass-produced, all full of well-dressed men and women who casually browsed feeling interest and greed—not fear or nervousness that such frivolous purchases would keep them from paying the rent or being able to eat or put gas in the car.
This was the fantasy. To be one of those people. To be able to walk into a place like this and not feel like an interloper, an intruder in shabby clothes who could sense every mote of suspicion and superiority behind the salesclerks’ smiling masks.
A black dress with a long, flowing skirt and fur trim around the cuffs and hem seemed perfect for tonight, but Rose had no idea what it cost. She hadn’t thought to look at the exchange rate and could only assume that the thousands of rubles translated to a much smaller amount in dollars. But Alec had sent her out—he must have had some idea how much she would spend.
Fur-trimmed boots and a decorative fur hat were necessary accessories, and a pretty silver necklace completed the ensemble. Rose kept hold of her smile as a startlingly large number flashed in the transaction window, but the clerk ran her card through without a second look and for the first time in her life, Rose owned a dress in which she’d be comfortable meeting royalty.
Back at the hotel, Rose indulged in a long hot bath in the huge granite bathtub. It felt so good to lie there, letting the heat soak deep into her skin, softening joints stiff from her Saturday night encounter and driving away the omnipresent cold of the city.
Her body still ached from the abuse it received at the hands of the mystery voiders, but her bruises were fading. Already they’d gone soft and yellow; had it really only been two days since the attack? Was it possible Ian’s magic circle did more than just keep bad dreams away.
Rose took longer than she meant to getting ready. She kept stopping to run her hands over the velvety fabric and soft fur. By the time she made it downstairs, everyone else was waiting for her.
Ian gave a soft whistle. “Nice dress.”
Rose spun around, showing off. “Lovely, my dear,” Alec said, checking his watch, “But we should be movin’ along. We don’t want to be late.”
Rose wasn’t the only one who had dressed up for the audience with Anastasia. Alec could have stepped right off the pages of GQ in his perfectly tailored light gray suit. Nazeem, at his side, looked no less elegant in a charcoal three-piece that might have seemed old-fashioned on another man, but Nazeem wore it with such confidence and grace that it was perfect. Ian should have looked out of place, in his far more casual sweater and sport coat, but Ian was his own ornament. He could have worn a burlap sack and still given the impression of being the best-dressed person in the room.
Mike was still Mike, in his black priest pants and his black priest shirt and no special effort exerted to pretty up for the vampires.
That was fine. Ian, at least, was having just as much fun with this as Rose. His eager interest bubbled alongside her own, and he offered Rose his arm, then held the town-car door for her and closed it with a playful bow. The effect of it all was only slightly spoiled by the fact they weren’t going more than a couple blocks.
The Winter Palace was immense. A line of gilded white columns along the pale green walls ran on and on along the river. On the other side, a circular courtyard so large it could have housed a football field if not for the angel-tower rising up from the center. The driver pulled up along the river-facing side of the building, and Alec led them to a small, unobtrusive door some distance from the main entrance.
A security guard stood at this side door, walkie-talkie in hand. He nodded to Alec and said something in Russian. “We’re expected,” Ian translated. The guard opened the door.
Expected indeed—a new vampire stood waiting just inside. Rose was never going to have trouble picking them out of a crowd. Like Nazeem, this man was discordant and disorienting to Rose’s othersense. She felt like a kid again, forced to relearn the weight and texture of emotions and tie the feelings she got to their meaning. Rose didn’t understand what made the vampires different, but if she was going to have to re-invent the wheel, she’d better be a quick study.
This vampire looked older than Nazeem—maybe in his mid-thirties. Again, Rose was frustrated with how little she knew. She assumed vampires didn’t age, because that was a pretty consistent thing in all the stories, but who could say?
Everything about this vampire bespoke wealth and care, from his perfectly styled blonde hair to the old fashioned—but somehow fitting—cravat at his neck.
Alec made introductions. First their names, then the vampire’s. James Carter Wentworth.
“Very good to meet you.” A Brit, by his accent. That made two vampires Rose had met so far in St. Petersburg and neither of them Russian.
As they moved into a small foyer, a non-vampire person took their coats. Like the guard, he came across as calm. Content. Not what Rose would have predicted from people who worked for vampires. Did they know? Or did vampires keep their true nature hidden from their staff?
“How is she tonight?” Alec asked Wentworth. From the edge in his voice, Alec was not calm. Alec was nervous, in a way Rose hadn’t yet seen from him.
“How is she ever?” If Wentworth was nervous, Rose couldn’t tell. Honestly, she was getting tired of people she couldn’t read.
Wentworth led them through a hallway with a random assortment of art and sculpture. Rose wanted to stop and look, but no one else slowed. Rose sighed. She’d have to come back some afternoon and take a tour. One of the greatest museums in the world, and she was here to talk to vampires.
At the end of the hall, the grand stairwell that opened before her reminded Rose this was more than just a museum—this had been the home of one of the wealthiest dynasties in Europe. Three story walls of arched windows carved in beautiful relief, and gilded. Scrolled and decorated bannisters—gilded. Statues on gilded pedestals. Gilded gilded gilded.
No wonder the peasants had revolted. She would have had a hard time starving in the dirt knowing this opulence was nearby too.
“This way, please.” Wentworth led them up the stairs. Through the real corridors of the palace. Gold edged every surface, everywhere she looked. Jewel-toned stone columns framed the doorways. Muralled ceilings had Rose rubbernecking like an idiot. Ian and Mike were likewise looking every which way. Alec ignored it, but he had doubtless seen this all before. Nazeem’s attention hadn’t shifted away from James Carter Wentworth since they’d come in the building.
The throne room was almost a disappointment. In the movies, there were always columns and high stone daises and a half-mile carpet you had to walk before you got to present yourself. Here, Wentworth led them into a round room, smaller than the hotel lobby, with just a single gilded chair in front of an imposing gilded portrait of an armored man and a spear-bearing woman.
In the chair, wearing a kingdom’s worth of jewels and a gown as gold as the rest of the palace, sat a woman who had to be the vampire queen of St. Petersburg. Rose had a moment to consider her strange, whirling presence, before Anastasia’s eyes met hers and Rose’s knees buckled under the
full impact of Anastasia’s attention.
* * *
Wentworth and Alec approached her and dropped to one knee, heads bowed. Ian, after a moment’s hesitation, followed suit with practiced grace. Rose stumbled forward and did the same; she couldn’t have kept her feet if she’d tried. Mike and Nazeem stayed upright. Nazeem inclined his head to Anastasia. Mike did not.
Rose didn’t need to look to know another half-dozen vampires milled about; they rasped against her senses and might have been dizzying had not the force of the Tsarina’s presence crowded them out of Rose’s mind. All were dressed to the nines, Rose noted as she risked a peek back over her shoulder. One especially beautiful woman sat at a grand piano, playing a soft, mellow tune.
“Rise, Carter.” Anastasia’s voice was rich, soothing. Rose felt the power of it seep into her mind, dulling her senses. “Tell me what you have brought. These are the Americans?” Anastasia’s accent was slight, her English careful and precise.
“Your majesty, you remember Alec Rutledge.” Alec bowed his head lower.
“Of course.” Anastasia liked Alec. Rose felt the warmth of the queen’s regard push against her own feelings. It made Rose like Alec. She couldn’t help herself.
Damn, this woman was dangerous.
“His companions: Father Michael Sullivan of Chicago, Rose Daziani of Phoenix, Ian Fior of New York, and Nazeem.”
“You all may rise.” Anastasia looked them each over in turn; Rose was dizzied by her attention. Did the others feel the same, or was this worse for her because of her gifts?
Anastasia’s eyes settled on Nazeem. “One of us. How delightful. But Carter named no home for you.”
“I am a traveler, your majesty, and have been for many years.” Once again, Rose saw Nazeem’s eyes flicker over to Wentworth before his attention returned to the Tsarina.
Anastasia didn’t seem to notice. “How sad to be without a home. Know that you are welcome here—all our kind are welcome here. I do hope you’ll find my city to your liking.”
“So far, it has been a pleasure.” Nazeem again inclined his head respectfully.
Anastasia shifted her focus to the padre. Now came a roiling tension, the beginning of unease. “And you, priest, what do you think of my court?”
“Very pretty. Certainly unique.” Not a lie. Anastasia would have known a lie. Mike managed a neutral enough tone, and his answer smoothed some of the Tsarina’s tension.
Next the Tsarina turned to Ian. “Ian Fior,” she tasted his name. “What a lovely boy you are. But lacking manners. You wear a cross in my presence, like the priest.”
Ian reached up to his neck, and now she was looking, Rose could just see the lines of it under Ian’s sweater. Ian gave a flourished bow that would have looked silly if Rose had tried it. Ian made it beautiful and perfect. “Forgive me, your majesty. It was a gift from my mother. I meant no offense.”
Anastasia could be generous, magnanimous. “You are forgiven. This time. He,” her finger flicked out towards Mike, “is beyond help, but you would be a delightful ornament to my court if you could learn to leave such trinkets at home. Don’t you think so, Carter?”
Wentworth tilted his head. “As you say, your majesty.”
Then Anastasia was looking at Rose and Rose lost all sense of what impressions were hers and what belonged to Anastasia. Anastasia’s thoughts and feelings ricocheted and grew; Rose couldn’t escape the echo-chamber. “Rose.” Anastasia whispered the word and Rose’s knees threatened to give out under the intimate heat of the vampire’s attention. If Anastasia said anything further, Rose missed it, overwhelmed in an avalanche of fascinated interest.
Rose’s mind snapped back as Anastasia’s focus moved elsewhere. “Consider yourselves welcome guests tonight. I will look forward to hearing of the business that brings you to my city, but first you must join me for dinner.”
Alec’s eyes widened and Rose shivered as a thrill of fear passed through her. Dinner with the vampires? In the movies, that never went well for the living.
Ian stepped forward and bowed again. “We are honored at the invitation, your majesty.” He, at least, was still having fun.
With a sweep of her golden skirts, Anastasia stood and made for the door opposite the one they had come in. The rest of her court scurried to follow. Once the room was empty, Rose turned to Alec. “What’s going on?” she hissed.
“I don’t know,” he whispered back. “She’s never invited me to dinner before.”
“That’s just great,” Mike muttered.
“I’m sure it will be fine.” The shake in Alec’s voice argued against the truth of his words, but this seemed a bad time for Rose to call him on it.
“Come.” Nazeem was calm as ever. “We shouldn’t keep her waiting.”
They followed the vampires into a room with a long table set in a stunning array of white and gold. Elegant china painted with delicate purple flowers and ribbons spread across an ornately embroidered tablecloth. Crystal stemware rimmed with gold reflected the light of hundreds of crystals dangling from candelabras. The vampires were already seated around the table. Rose snagged an empty chair next to the woman who’d been at the piano and Ian sat down next to her. The spread of silverware and the wide variety of glasses around her plate were intimidating. How bad would it be for diplomatic relations if she chose the wrong fork?
At least there were plates, so Rose’s nightmare of being served nothing but blood seemed unlikely.
Mike, Alec, and Nazeem were across the table. Of the three, only Nazeem didn’t look nervous, but Rose could feel waves of something raw and unsettling from his direction.
Wentworth stood, raising an empty wine-glass. All the vampires fell silent and looked at him. “A toast to her Imperial Majesty, Tsaritsa Anastasia Nikolaevna of the House of Romanov.” He switched over to Russian for the actual toast. Rose exchanged a look with Father Mike, who shrugged. Ian elbowed her and nodded towards Wentworth. She returned her attention to the man she couldn’t understand.
When he finished, the vampires all gave some affirmative and raised their own empty glasses. Ian elbowed her again and Rose fumbled at her own glass to lift it in the air.
Then the vampires all took a drink from their empty glasses. Rose looked helplessly at Alec, but he gave a slight shake of his head, then followed suit. Rose followed his lead, tasting cool metal as she sucked air over the golden rim of her glass.
Wentworth sat back down and waved to a man in the doorway. The man nodded, and moments later, another gentleman came in wheeling a large tureen on a cart. Did vampires even eat food? All signs were pointing to….
Wait.
The server lifted the lid and dipped in a ladle, tilting it over the bowl in front of Anastasia. Nothing came out. He repeated the action around the table, serving nothing to each person in turn. When he had finished, he bowed to the Tsarina. At that cue, all the vampires picked up spoons and began… eating?
Rose struggled not to laugh. Beside her, even Ian was confused. The woman on Rose’s other side asked her a question in Russian.
Wentworth came to Rose’s rescue. “Lady Tatiana asks if you’re not pleased by your soup.”
Rose couldn’t shake the feeling they were all the brunt of one huge practical joke on the part of the vampires. On the other hand, she remembered Alec’s evasiveness on the subject of the Tsarina’s sanity. “Oh no, it…smells great. I’m just…letting it cool.”
Wentworth translated her words and Tatiana nodded. Rose picked up her spoon. The edge of Wentworth’s mouth curled into the barest hint of a smile. Rose bent over her bowl and tried not to slurp the air.
New platters were brought out and set on the table. Panic fluttered inside Rose as she tried to figure out what they were supposed to be. Bread? Appetizers? She’d read that appetizers were a big deal at Russian meals, but what about imaginary dinners? Was it something she should use a fork to get?
Another man came around with an empty pitcher and “refilled” glasses aroun
d the table. Ian, Alec and Nazeem chatted comfortably with nearby vampires. Rose needed to pick up some Russian language mp3s fast.
Mike sullenly picked at his imaginary meal, keeping up the show, but barely. Not that the vampires seemed to expect much from him. In fact, the vampire to his right had quite visibly angled his chair away from the priest. Definitely some awkwardness there.
Rose pantomimed her way through the meal, watching the people around her for cues. As she “ate,” she felt her way around the conversations, listened past the words, tried to match tone and posture to the inside-out sensations she got from the vampires. She kept her mind well away from the Tsarina.
Rose thought she counted five courses, although it was possible one of those might have been a refill of previous food. Politeness seemed to demand a compliment towards the chef, but no one gave her any hints of what she was eating, and she wasn’t sure she could do it with a straight face anyway.
Finally, it was over. Anastasia stood and left the table without a word to any of them. Most of the vampires trailed after her. Only Wentworth remained. “Well done,” he said softly, once Anastasia was well out of sight. It sounded a little patronizing.
“What the hell?” Rose had used up all her manners for the day.
Alec’s tone was more mild. “Do you have dinners like this often?”
“Every night, of course. Why, how do you dine?” His cool tone and laughing eyes dared them to call out the elephant in the room.
Nazeem’s voice was just as cool. “The formality is simply more…theatrical than that to which we are accustomed.”
“Oh yes, Anastasia loves all the forms of hospitality. Even if there are those who would accuse the old ways as occasionally lacking…substance.” Wentworth stood. “Come back another night, and we can discuss business.” He nodded to them and withdrew.
Rose waited till he was out of the room. “Well, that was—”
Mike shook his head sharply, cutting her off. “Let’s go.”
Nazeem looked back at the door Wentworth had closed behind himself. “Father Mike is correct. We can talk back at the hotel.”
Midnight In St. Pertsburg (The Invisible War 1) Page 7