Chapter 7—Getting Acquainted
Sherry spent most of the next day looking for a way to escape.
So far she had found nothing. Well, she’d found many interesting rooms, including the entrance to the vampires’ quarters (through the drawing room). There was also a music room, a billiard room, and a room filled with exotic birds, among others. But she still couldn’t find the passage that led back into the main catacombs. It was likely behind one of the many locked doors she’d quietly tried to open.
There were no telephones besides her cell, which of course was useless. With no electricity or computers, she was unable to e-mail her parents, or anyone else she knew. Not that they would believe she’d been kidnapped by vampires anyway. Her predicament sounded ridiculous, even to her.
At one point, Sherry paused in her search to lean the back of her head against a corridor wall. She tried to stop the tears from running down her cheeks, but they kept coming. Her shoulders shook as she realized she might never see her parents again, or any of her friends. She’d spent so much time convincing her folks that she was a “free spirit,” she could take care of herself, she needed her space, et cetera, so would they please stop checking up on her all the time? Now that she’d been kidnapped, it was all backfiring. Sherry felt like kicking herself.
These days, she hardly ever saw her family. Mom was in the States, busy with work. Dad was in Provence, busy with his girlfriend. And her high school friends were off at university, or engaged, or traveling Europe. And although she knew one or two psychics in the square, like Tierra, she wasn’t close to any of them. They’d never even exchanged e-mail addresses or phone numbers. No one in her life had any reason to look that hard for her.
Sherry grabbed the sides of her head in frustration, then stopped. She knew from previous experience that the only result would be a migraine. Instead, she closed her eyes, dried her cheeks, and tried to think. She forced herself to take deep breaths. She even gave a tiny, ironic smile at the absurdity of it all.
So vampires really did exist. Huh. It had thrown Sherry off at first, but the idea wasn’t entirely outside the realm of believability. As a psychic, she had experience with otherworldly phenomena. She had long been open-minded about the existence of supernatural creatures, (although she wished she wasn’t their prisoner at the moment).
Her mind settled instead on Lucas. Maybe she could convince him to help her escape. She needed to find a way to be alone with him when he and his companions awoke. Her digital watch informed her that it was still daytime; she had about an hour until the others rose. Upon waking that morning, she had found a fire already blazing away in the fireplace. In fact, it had been a bit too warm under the covers. She sat up and found herself smiling. Lucas. That was sweet of him. He must have fought his drug-like sleep just so she could be warm.
And well-fed. Her breakfast had been on the round table, already laid out for her. It was light, in the typical French fashion, but after such an enormous dinner, that was all she had room for. Two croissants and a hot chocolate, the most delicious she’d ever tasted. Except for the constant threat of a violent death, she’d thought, a girl could get used to this.
After failing to find an escape route, she spent her last free hour practicing telekinesis. Perhaps it was the constant possibility of imminent death that increased her fear factor, and suddenly made moving things much easier. Or maybe being around so many intensely magical creatures struck up some kind of psychic change in her brain. Regardless, she was definitely having less difficulty using her powers. So far, she’d managed to lift a wineglass, a shampoo bottle, and her own hair with very little effort.
In the middle of her attempt to move a chair at least three centimeters, she heard a knock at the door.
“It’s me. Lucas.”
A smile crept onto Sherry’s face, and she put the chair down. “Come in!”
Sure enough, the bar across the door lifted slowly, and in walked the handsome young man.
“How did you sleep? I was worried you might not be warm enough, so I made a fire just before I thought you might awaken.”
“That was very thoughtful of you.”
“I will do the same every day, if you wish.”
“Oh, Lucas.” Sherry couldn’t help herself. She playfully threw one of the smaller pillows at him. “You’re too much!”
Lucas picked up the poorly-aimed cushion and looked at it, as if unsure of how to interpret her statement.
“Yes, well, ah, one oversight of mine was that you might suffer from ennui during your stay here. I apologize for not providing any entertainment while the rest of us slept. With your permission, I’d like to remedy that now.”
This guy really was too much. He’d saved her life, spoiled her rotten, and now he felt guilty for failing to prevent boredom?
“Oh, don’t worry about that.” She waved her hand breezily, resolving to put on a brave face no matter what the future held. She would not let the vampires—any of them—see her look upset again. “I was exploring most of the day. I sang to the birds, and even got in a few games of pool. Which I won, of course.”
Lucas gave her a gracious smile. “Naturally. Please. Come with me.” He gestured toward the hallway.
“Right, just a minute. Have to use the, uh, ladies’ room.”
She did a quick check, brushing her hair and adding a few touches of makeup. She wanted to look especially good when she asked for his help. Maybe he’d be more apt to take pity on someone he found attractive? A silly thought, but it was worth a try. It was probably best to still stay away from the perfumes. She didn’t want to smell good enough to eat. At the last minute, she changed her mind, and sprayed a hint of fragrance on her wrist. A touch of amber and musk, but nothing too strong. That should do it. Hopefully the effect indicated something pleasant, but stopped short of edible.
If Lucas noticed a change in her looks or scent, he said nothing about it. He led her silently down the candlelit hall. Sherry should have been frightened, walking with him in the darkness, but instead found it a thrilling experience. She could almost pretend that no one else lived here. It was just the two of them, with an underground palace all to themselves.
The walk ended too soon. They were standing in front of an oak door with a rounded frame, one she hadn’t noticed earlier.
The young vampire cleared his throat and glanced down at Sherry.
“Well, don’t you ‘clean up nice,’ as the expression goes.”
So he had noticed she’d fixed her hair and makeup. And maybe he even liked the perfume.
“Thanks. I’ve been toileting myself for over sixteen years,” she joked. “Speaking of cleaning, how do things get clean around here, Lucas? I can’t imagine you guys on your hands and knees, polishing and scrubbing the floors, yet everything looks spotless. And I didn’t see a maid, unless . . .” Sherry didn’t want to say “unless you ate her.”
Lucas put his hands out in front of him, palms up, as if at a loss. “Essentially, we all pick up after ourselves. And you’d be surprised how little gets dirty when you’re a vampire. No food to prepare, no dishes to wash. No need of restroom facilities, so no need to disinfect them. No dead skin cells that shed and need to be dusted.”
“Dead skin cells?”
“The primary component of dust. They come from humans, which, of course, we are not.”
“Reeeally. I did not know all those important dust factoids.”
He gave her a playful smile. “I’m surprised that a smart young lady such as yourself is so ignorant about these crucial matters,” he teased. “Perhaps this will cure your mental sluggishness.”
He opened the door in front of him. They had come to the library.
At first, Sherry thought she was entering a forest. It was so dark she couldn’t see, but she could hear the rustling of leaves. Sh
e felt parts of trees touching her face. But they weren’t soft and delicate, like leaves. They felt rough and scratchy, like . . .
Roots?
Lucas used his keen eyesight to light several candelabras. Now she could see that those scratchy things were roots. Some were enormous, thick as a man’s thigh. Others were thinner, spindly, and swung easily when Sherry touched them. The ceiling looked as if it were made of packed dirt; she wondered what prevented it from crumbling onto them. If there was ever any doubt that they were underground, entering the library certainly dispelled it.
All around her were plants. Some stood in heavy pots on the ground, containing small trees that reached to the ceiling. Vines wandered among cracks in the walls, creeping their way along dark brown walnut shelves. Flowers peeped out here and there from woven baskets, tacked to the roots themselves.
“Lucas? What’s with all this?” She pointed to the vines all around and above her.
“Oh, you noticed that, did you?” He grinned as he crouched before the fireplace, preparing to warm the room. “We’re right below le Jardin Atlantique in Montparnasse.”
Montparnasse. That meant they were still near the entrance to the catacombs.
“The Atlantic Garden has these enormous oaks above ground, and their go roots all the way down here. Of course, there are no real leaves anywhere, because there is no sunlight. Real plants could never grow in the House for that reason. But in a way, we can have a little garden of our very own.”
“No real plants? But what about these?” She indicated the flower baskets and potted trees.
“Fakes, I’m afraid. But very realistic-looking, aren’t they? I even made the vines myself.”
Sherry examined the vines a bit more closely, and realized they cast no shadow.
“You drew those? I can’t believe it! They look so real! I didn’t even know you could draw.”
“There are many things about me you don’t know, Mademoiselle Sherry. I thought we should have something living down here, even if it is counterfeited.”
“The library was your idea?”
“Of a sort. The shelves and most of the books were already here when I came. I remember being more impressed with that than with any of the other rooms. You see, this was before the Industrial Revolution, and before mass production. Books were expensive to make, and even more expensive to buy. Maintaining a library was a pastime only for the very wealthy. My father had been a relatively successful merchant, so my family was not poor. However, we could never have afforded even a modest library, one much smaller than this. It would have been worth more than our house, land, horses, and my father’s entire inventory combined.”
“Well, I certainly love what you’ve done with the place,” said Sherry. The warm red bindings of the books combined with the green leaves made her think of Christmas. Books were everywhere, packing the tall shelves, displayed behind chest-high glass cases, or lying open on side tables. She didn’t bother peeking behind the floor-to-ceiling drapes this time, although she longed to stroke the soft, thick velvet. She’d learned her lesson all too well from the drawing room experience. No need to risk accidentally brushing the curtains aside and encountering another nasty surprise.
Lucas had got a good fire going now, and she sat with him in one of the two wing-back chairs across from the wooden mantle. Maybe now was a good time to ask him—
“You know, we have quite a number of rare books here. I believe we even have some of the first books on the tarot ever published.”
Her backside had barely touched the seat before Sherry was on her feet again.
“Where are they? You have to show them to me!” She might never have another opportunity like this again. Surely her request for help could wait five minutes.
They examined some of the rarer volumes on tarot. Well, she examined them. Lucas had read every volume in the library several times over. She’d assumed as much.
“Just out of curiosity, where does your interest in the tarot come from?” Lucas asked, carefully turning pages on the illuminated manuscript of an ancient deck. “Is reading the cards a common pastime for American girls?”
“What? Oh, no, it isn’t.” Sherry was busy concentrating on the book’s beautiful illustrations. She’d asked Lucas to turn the pages for fear her clumsy mortal hands would tear them, or that the oil from her fingers would damage the fragile paper. “It was sort of a . . . um . . . family hobby.”
“That’s an interesting family you have, then. Tell me, are all of them occult practitioners?”
“Huh? Oh, no. It was really just my sister, and me, and my gran . . . say, how many books do you have in here?” Sherry didn’t want to talk about tarot anymore. Thinking of how she’d learned it only led her to memories of Kaileen, which saddened her. Best just to change the subject. Then she could ease into a discussion of how he might help her.
“Well, let’s see.” Lucas’s brow furrowed. “I’ve never actually counted. I’d say, at the moment, we have at least fifty thousand.”
“Fifty thousand?”
“Not all in this room,” he added hastily. “I meant fifty thousand disbursed throughout the entire House. The library itself only holds about thirty thousand.”
“Only thirty thousand or so, eh?” she teased.
“Yes, well, just how many books were in your home as a child? And did you read them all?”
“Hmmm . . . probably only about two thousand. And I did read most of them. My folks were big on books. History, travel, art. And novels.”
Lucas’s eyes widened for a moment. “My, my. Two thousand?”
“It’s nothing compared to what you’ve got here.”
“True, but still.” Lucas closed the tarot book and replaced it on the shelf. “That’s no—how do you say it? Small potatoes?”
Sherry tried not to laugh.
“I thought reading for pleasure had fallen out of fashion in the modern family. I’m pleased to see it alive and well in this particular daughter. You must be an even brighter girl than I imagined. But of course, if these ancient tomes aren’t your taste, I believe Vasha keeps some romance novels in that corner over there.” Lucas motioned to a small bookcase covered in dangling roots. “You know—in case you should need to have your bodice ripped or something.” There was a distinctly playful element to his voice.
Her face burned. She’d have to sneak a few of those paperbacks into her room later. If she was staying. For now, she feigned indifference, and pretended to be occupied with a tenth-century illuminated manuscript. “I’ll thank you not to take such a keen interest in my bodice, Monsieur Lucas, ripped or unripped.”
Okay, he seems to be in a really good mood, thought Sherry. I’ll just quickly ask if there’s any way he can—
Suddenly, they heard yelling and sobbing from down the hall. Lucas was at the door in an instant. “Stay there. I’ll return momentarily.” Before Sherry could protest, he was gone.
Dammit! She’d finally gotten a solo audience with Lucas and hadn’t asked for his help! How was that possible? She hoped it wouldn’t be her last chance. She paced the floor, anxious for him to come back.
She could hear angry shouts from far away, and then the Master’s calm, steady voice. Above all, there were the wailings and gut-wrenching sobs of a woman in pain. After what seemed like an eternity, Lucas returned, looking paler and more haggard.
Sherry rushed over to him. “What happened? Lucas? What happened?”
“Vasha,” he replied dully. “She was above ground, teasing a less-than-perfect-looking young woman about her clothing choices. She was so busy tormenting the poor mortal that she didn’t see the flaming baton of the street performer until it was too late. He was standing behind her, and she spread her arms wide suddenly, knocking the baton out of his hand. It set her hair on fire, and with it, half of h
er face.”
“Sweet Jesus.” Sherry sucked in her breath.
“The others have given her some of their blood to speed up the healing process, but the burns are extensive. It will be months before she’ll feel comfortable being seen in public again. Maybe next time she won’t fall victim to her own vanity,” he commented wryly.
Sherry looked down at the floor and said nothing.
“Sherry? Sherry.” He cupped her chin with his hand. She felt a little electric shiver run through her body. “Don’t feel badly about this, all right? She’ll be fine. And frankly, Vasha is an arrogant, bitter caricature of a woman. I think she deserves whatever she gets. As do most of our kind,” he said quietly.
“It’s not that, really. It’s, well . . . my prediction.”
He nodded. “It came true.”
“And quickly, too. I just hope Vasha doesn’t—”
As if on cue, Vasha stumbled into the room. She pointed a long finger at Sherry.
“You!” she hissed. “You evil, stinking little mortal bitch!”
Sherry’s jaw dropped. It looked like the left side of Vasha’s face was melting off. Long, red folds of skin drooped almost down to her collarbone, and what was left on her face bubbled over in angry-looking wart-like domes. The hair from the left side of her head had been removed entirely.
“You made this happen! You did this to me! With your filthy magic cards! And now you are going to pay!” She rushed at Sherry, sharp nails outstretched.
House of Cards Page 7