House of Cards

by Waters, Ilana

  She sighed. Forget about clothes for now. She’d figure that out later. She picked up one of the smaller candelabras, walked across the bedchamber, and opened the white door.

  Well, Sherry thought as she entered, they’d brought the eighteenth century into the drawing room and a medieval castle into the “dining” room. Apparently, the bathroom was reserved for Versailles.

  It was nearly the size of the bedroom, and the bathtub nearly the size of the king-size bed. The tub looked as deep as the shallow end of a swimming pool, and was surrounded by four enormous stone pillars. Blue-green mosaic tile covered the entire floor and all four walls, like a Roman bath. Motifs and patterns of painstaking detail graced almost every surface. Pictures of fish, oceans, and gardens whispered veritable stories in broken pieces of pottery. Sherry once again marveled at the extraordinary time and patience it must have taken to accomplish this level of artistry. And all for a bathroom!

  If she’d been worried the smaller mirror in the bedroom wasn’t enough to serve her needs, her mind was put to rest here. Mirrors covered an entire wall of the room, flecked with gold veins. The countertops, including the one used as a dressing table, were solid marble. The sinks—two of them—were amazing as well. Painted in minute floral patterns, they exhibited a dizzying array of colors. Almost too pretty to use. And she wasn’t entirely sure the faucets and other fixtures weren’t made of pure gold.

  There was a large cupboard at the other end of the room. Sherry approached it, but was hesitant to open the doors. What if it contained more dead-people clothing, similar to the bedroom wardrobe? Eventually, curiosity got the better of her.

  Her jaw dropped as she surveyed the contents. Towels of astonishing softness. Essential oils. Triple-milled soaps. Mountains of decadent bubble baths, and rich, creamy lotions. An enormous palate of eye makeup, facial powder, brushes, and combs. Expensive French perfumes. She picked up one of the glass vials and considered indulging in its clinging, heady scent. Then she realized it might make her smell even more appetizing to the vampires, and hastily put it back.

  There was also an enormous assortment of candles of all shapes and sizes, both scented and unscented. Sherry wasted no time in putting down the candelabra and distributing her new light sources throughout the room. When she’d finished arranging and lighting each taper and votive, there were candles absolutely everywhere. It looked like a romance novel had exploded in the restroom.

  Twenty minutes later, she’s finished her bath. She wrapped the towel around her torso and retrieved makeup necessities from the cupboard. Might as well look her best when meeting up with her “hosts” again. Sherry wanted them to enjoy her appearance enough to keep her around. Too proud to show them she was beaten, the fortune-teller still cared about how she looked. If she was going to die, she was going to look damn good doing it. At this point, maintaining a decent exterior was the last, tiny bit of dignity she could preserve.

  And the Master said she wasn’t beautiful. What an ass, she thought, as she dusted her cheeks with blush. He was right, of course, but still. What a nasty thing to say to someone, especially when you’re about to kill them. Insult to injury and all that. Of course, he was a psychopath, so his judgment was probably off about a lot of things. She ran a brush through her shoulder-length hair, giving it a few extra strokes in defiance.

  She walked out of the bathroom and stopped short. Across the bed lay a funky sweater dress—black, with dark multi-colored stripes running horizontally across. Sherry quickly looked around, but there was no one else there. Unless vampires had the ability to turn invisible. Oh, good Lord—had one been invisible in here when she’d taken off her clothes? Was one of them in here now? She began searching through the corners of the room, then realized how stupid that was. If they were invisible, how would she be able to see them? Unless there was another, secret entrance? That was a nerve-wracking thought. She’d ask Lucas when she saw him next. He seemed more trustworthy than the others, at least at the moment.

  Since the room was absent of any measurable vampire activity, and Sherry did need something to wear, she tried on the sweater dress. A perfect fit. She still felt a bit cold, even though the dress was very warm. She looked around and saw, on the bed, a pair of black stockings and a dark purple scarf. She put them on, along with the boots she’d come in with.

  Glancing into the freestanding oblong mirror, she was impressed. First, because it wasn’t as difficult to see her reflection in there as she’d initially thought. And second, because she didn’t look half bad. The dress hugged her curves in all the right places, but wasn’t overly revealing. Which was good, because she had a feeling that down here, she was at serious risk of freezing to death. The scarf covered most of her neck and shoulders, and the tights felt warm against her legs. Combined with her flat-heeled boots, she looked artistic, unique, and just a little bad-ass.

  Time to read a few cards. If someone had been in her room to bring clothing, they’d probably return to collect her soon. She swallowed hard. At least her hands had stopped shaking from fear, although now they were a bit unsteady from hunger. She hoped Lucas hadn’t forgotten about her supper. Surely they wouldn’t waste all this luxury on a person only to watch them starve to death? Or actually, they just might . . .

  Pushing away the morbid thought, Sherry retrieved the cards from her rucksack. For some reason, this time they were easy to find. Maybe Lucas touching them had been good luck. She sat down on the bed and began to shuffle carefully.

  What’s going to happen to me?

  She took a deep breath and drew three cards from the deck: one from the top, one from the middle, and one from the bottom.

  She turned them over. Hmmm . . .

  The Hermit, the Chariot, and the Ace of Cups.

  The Hermit indicated a retreat from worldly life, a time of solitude and introspection. Seeking strength from within. That certainly made sense in her present location. She felt like a hermit, trapped in a cave. Except real hermits usually lived there by choice, and she was a prisoner.

  The Chariot meant a long and forceful struggle, with eventual resolution only through vigorous and diligent effort. She’d have to see how that played out.

  But the Ace of Cups? The beginning of a profound and satisfying relationship? That didn’t make any sense. She certainly wasn’t going to develop a relationship with any of the vampires. That would be insane! Especially the Master. She shuddered to think how near he’d come to touching her, to killing her. The way he looked at her. She knew his motivation was bloodlust, not sexual desire, but still. It made her feel so vulnerable and exposed.

  Lucas was friendly enough. But who was to say if his intentions were truly honorable? He might get a bit too hungry one day and finish her off himself. No one would bat an eye.

  No, she thought firmly. That wasn’t going to happen.

  She concentrated hard, channeling her nervousness into magical energy. She managed to lift the deck into the box and shut the lid, without touching either of them.

  There. She smiled. At least that was something.

  A soft knock sounded upon the door. It gave her a little start.

  “Um, come in?”

  “Would you mind opening the door?” came a muffled voice from the other side.

  “Oh, right—sorry.” She dashed over to the door and moved the bar away from it.

  It was Lucas, carrying a large silver tray with a dome cover. He was even more handsome in the dim light than he had been in the square, when the late afternoon sun made him easier to see. The soft light of the candles lent a gentle glow to his face, and his eyes seemed less hollow as well.

  “My apologies for taking so long. Most restaurants in Paris are closed at this time of night, but I was able to seek one out and make . . . special arrangements.”

  “Oh, you didn’t have to go through all that trouble ju
st for me. I’d have been happy with whatever you had lying around. Really.” She took the tray from him and set it down on the round table.

  “We don’t keep much food here that is suitable for mortal consumption.”

  “Oh. Right. Of course. I forgot.” She really had to stop doing that.

  “The Master has requested your presence in the Great Hall after you have finished your meal.”

  Sherry took a deep breath, trying to keep herself calm. “Okay. The Great Hall. Is that the same room I was in before—the one with the long table?”

  “The same. I shall return to collect you shortly, if that pleases you.”

  It was going to be hard to get used to the way Lucas spoke. He was so stiff and formal. Part of that might be his old-fashioned upbringing, but Sherry wondered if it wasn’t also to give himself some emotional distance from her. He probably didn’t want to get too attached if the other vampires ended up killing her later. Or he did.

  “Sure. No problem. I mean, if it’s no problem for you.”

  To her surprise, a half-smile snuck out the side of Lucas’s mouth. “It is no trouble at all, I assure you. Well then, I shall leave you to your meal. Bon appétit.”

  “Merci!” she called out after him. He left the room and shut the door. Sherry poised her hand to remove the cover from the tray, then stopped. She went over to the door and moved the bar across it again. Distracted by her growing hunger, she’d forgotten to ask Lucas how the clothes had gotten into her room.

  She lifted the tray’s silver dome slightly, and the most delicious scent filled the air. Then she removed the cover all at once and set it aside on the table.

  Well, these vampires were just full of surprises, weren’t they?

  The tray had seemed deceptively smaller when Lucas had first brought it in. It was definitely larger than it had appeared with the dome on top. Apparently, it needed to be, since the contents of an entire food market were inside. Hors d’oeuvres of bacon-wrapped figs. Wild rice soup. Savory-looking sweet potato soufflé. The main course consisted of mushroom crepes drizzled with sherried cream. A salad of mixed greens, candied walnuts, and pears completed the meal, along with chocolate mousse and a soft, creamy Boursin cheese for desert. Sideways on the tray lay a bottle of red wine, its long neck encased in a crystal goblet.

  The bone china that lay underneath was flawless, and the flatware definitely antique. She was almost afraid to pick up the fragile wine glass for fear of breaking it.

  But she was famished, and hunger soon got the better of her. She wasted no time in beginning what she hoped wouldn’t be the last meal of her life.

  Chapter 6—Predictions and Introductions

  Sherry sat at one end of the long wooden table in the Great Hall. The Master sat at the other, with his band of vampires in the tall, ornate chairs on either side. There must have been some creative anachronism in the decorating, Sherry thought, since such chairs did not belong in an ordinary dining hall for the time period. Hard, uncomfortable benches would have been the norm, even for the wealthy.

  “Well, ah, who wants to go first?” she asked timidly. All eyes turned toward the Master.

  He smiled with great beneficence and gestured towards Lucas. “Why don’t you go first, dear boy? After all, you are the one who found her. Even though Thomas was the one to bring her to us.” He folded his white hands on the table and looked at Sherry.

  “Most gracious, Master,” replied Lucas, “I have already had my fortune told by this talented young lady. I would hate to have her waste her precious gift on me twice in one day.”

  The Master seemed content with this answer. “Very well. Share with us her divinations on your behalf.” It was a command, not an invitation.

  Lucas seemed reluctant. “She informed me that I would partner with an unknown individual, undergo a great struggle, and emerge triumphant.”

  The Master nodded. “Interesting. We must see if her predictions indeed come to pass. Vasha, why don’t you go first, my lovely?” He indicated the honey-haired woman Sherry had seen before, her flowing curls even darker in the dimmed light.

  Vasha raised her eyebrows and jutted her chin out at Sherry. “Proceed, mortal. Tell me what my future holds.” It was almost as if she was daring the tarot reader, challenging her.

  “Um, you have to shuffle the cards first.”

  Vasha looked taken aback. “I must shuffle for you? My, my. I’ve heard Americans were lazy, but this is really too much!” She laughed, and the others joined her. All except Lucas.

  “It’s not that,” explained Sherry patiently. “You have to shuffle them so that they reflect your energies. It’s the only way they can answer your question. If I shuffle them for you, they’ll draw upon my own energies. They would answer questions only I had, and your reading would come out wrong.”

  Vasha rolled her eyes. “Fine, then. If I must, then I must.”

  Sherry gasped as the cards disappeared from beneath her hands and shot across the table into Vasha’s. Yet another magical power vampires possessed.

  Vasha shuffled the cards with all the expertise of a Las Vegas poker dealer. After she’d done so four or five times, the cards shot back into Sherry’s hands.

  “All right, fortune-teller. Here’s my question: Will I always be as beautiful as I am now?”

  The others laughed, and Vasha looked around with a satisfied air. Lucas looked down and shook his head in disgust.

  “That should be an easy one for you,” said Vasha.

  Presumably because vampires can’t age, or otherwise change, thought Sherry. Or was that really true? At some point, she would have to separate the myths from the reality.

  Assuming Vasha wanted the cards chosen for her, Sherry drew three from the deck. She looked at them and frowned.

  Vasha stopped smiling. “What is it? What’s wrong?”

  “Nothing, not really. It seems the answer to your question is ‘yes and no.’ ”

  “Yes and no? What do you mean? How is that possible?”

  Sherry held up the first card. “The Sun. Often taken to mean friendship, good fortune, and contentment. Can also indicate the forces of fire. Next we have the Three of Swords. Heartache, sorrow, and pain. The last card, the Six of Swords, indicates healing, recuperation, and periods of rest after an illness or trauma. I’m assuming you can be harmed by fire?”

  Vasha rose up in her seat, nearly knocking it over. “Are you threatening me, you little brat? How dare you!”

  Sherry’s heart leapt into her throat. She hadn’t meant to threaten anyone. She silently begged the universe to spare her life, just this once. Well, just once more.

  It was the Master who spoke next. “Calm yourself, my beautiful Vasha. I’m sure no insult was intended. Little Sherry here was just making an observation, weren’t you?” Sherry nodded so hard she thought her head would come off.

  “I’m just reading what I see. Honestly, I am. This—” she indicated the spread, “seems to say you will be harmed by fire or heat in some way, go through a period of intense pain, and then begin to heal. I can only read what is there. I don’t make things up.”

  “Come now, Vasha,” said the other female vampire. “She’s only human, after all.”

  Vasha sat down slowly, her narrowed eyes never leaving Sherry. “Well, perhaps your little predictions are wrong. We won’t have much use for a fortune-teller who can’t tell fortunes, now, will we?”

  “No, I suspect not,” replied Sherry. Somehow, Vasha’s comment made her feel braver. She was certain that her cards would always be right. She might not be as strong, fast, beautiful, or powerful as these vampires, but tarot was the one area of her life where she possessed utter confidence. “Would anyone else care for a reading?”

  “I must admit, I’m quite eager to hear what the fates have in store for
me,” said the Master. “May I?” Without waiting for a response, he took the cards from Sherry’s hands, never touching them. After shuffling them in the same flawless manner as Vasha had, they flew back to Sherry’s end of the table.

  “What’s your question then, Sir?” Sherry still hesitated to call him Master.

  “Oh, just wondering if any important events will occur shortly, that’s all,” he replied cheerfully.

  It was a vague question, like Lucas’s had been. No matter. The cards were capable of answering almost any question, general or specific. She pulled a new set of three for the Master.

  “Okay, first, The Tower. Major Arcana, like The Sun. This says there will be a tearing down of the old in order to make way for the new. Major shifts and changes in ways of thinking, acting, and believing. The Seven of Swords, Minor Arcana. Sneakiness, deception. Someone trying to get away with something.” Sherry didn’t add that the person in question could very well be him. “Finally, Five of Pentacles. Something you dearly love or cherish is at risk of being lost forever. You may need to take precautions or change your present course of action in order to secure it.”

  The Master didn’t seem upset by any of what she said. He just nodded thoughtfully.

  All of a sudden, Sherry felt completely exhausted. The tense atmosphere here was straining her psychic gifts. That, combined with the terrifying events of the past ten or so hours, was sapping every last ounce of her energy. She closed her eyes momentarily in an effort to regroup.

  “I see we’re tiring out our new toy, aren’t we, my pets?” The Master glanced around the table. “Why don’t we continue this little game tomorrow evening? I’m sure we all need our rest.” He said “we,” but continued looking only at Sherry.