House of Cards

by Waters, Ilana

  No. It would be different with Lucas. He wasn’t like that. It was only being under the Master’s yoke that made him a monster. He was a good person at heart. And she would be too, if she shared his form. They could live out their lives together—their eternal lives—remaining true to themselves and their principles.

  Paris at night, from on high, was nothing short of breathtaking. It wasn’t just the blanket of stars that lay on the ground in the form of twinkling electric lights. It was the colors within them: shadowy reds, deep blues, velvet purples. It was like peeking at the underside of heaven, and marveling at its dark, strange beauty. Although the irony of standing above a church did not escape her. Atop this estate of supreme holiness sat two individuals held in thrall by the most powerful evil she had ever heard of.

  “Tell me, my love, exactly why you felt the need to come here?”

  “Oh, I don’t know.” She shivered, even in her down parka, as Lucas wrapped his arms around her from behind. Being a vampire, his body temperature didn’t do much to help her at the moment. Still, being so close to him was enough to get what little blood she had whizzing around. “I just felt the need to look at Paris. All of it. While I was still . . . here.”

  They gazed in silence for a few minutes at the stunning scene before them. Then Lucas spoke.

  “So, are there any questions you want to ask me? About being immortal?”

  Sherry glanced over her shoulder at him with a puzzled expression.

  “No, no—I know there must be things you wonder about me, about our kind. Especially after what just happened to you. You’ve been very gracious these past few months—you won’t pose questions that you think would cause me pain. But you’re only human; there must be some things you’re just dying to know. So, what are they? Do you wish to understand what mortal blood tastes like to us? What it feels like to watch everyone you know grow old and die? How we can take innocent lives night after night, and yet carry on as if nothing had happened?”

  Sherry thought for a moment, looking up at the inky night above them, with its dimmed and muted stars.

  “What did the sky look like when there were no electric lights?”

  “Excuse me?”

  “What did it look like? I hear that with all the modern light pollution, it’s hard to see the stars in the city as they once were. I’ll bet they shone brilliantly. They must have been absolutely dazzling.”

  “Yes. Yes, they were.”

  “What does it feel like to fly? I’ve always wanted to fly—I mean, without someone carrying me, not that I’m not grateful. What is it really like?”

  “Well, in dreams flying is always associated with a feeling of weightlessness, of unimaginable freedom. Yet that is something you acclimate yourself to rather quickly, when you are capable of doing it all the time. What I never tire of is the change in perspective, in point of view. I can rise above the city, invisible to mortals, as you know, and it never ceases to amaze me how different everything looks. Highway lights stretch into glowing rivers. And beyond them, when the moon shines from in between the clouds, I can see the hills and mountains, all leading to the sea. Sometimes it even makes me a little dizzy.”

  “It comforts me to know how large the world is, that there is something beyond the Master and the macabre prison he holds us in. It is one of the few times in my life when I allow myself to feel . . . hopeful.”

  Sherry knew, right then and there, that she would become immortal for Lucas if he asked her to. If he wanted to spend his life with her. Even if it meant becoming a killer while they were under the Master’s sway. If it was the only way to weld herself to him for as long as they existed, she would bear watching others suffer and die at her hands. Not any longer than necessary, of course. Only until they could break free of the House of Cadamon once and for all.

  She could say goodbye to everything she’d ever known. Her parents, her old friends, the few new ones she’d made. Before, she had wondered how it could be possible, to cut the threads that bound her to that world. Now she understood that the majority of it, her old life, had been a slow and painful march towards death. Ever since Kaileen died, Sherry had been unable to let go of the past, or form a new future in her mind. It was like someone had blotted out the sun, leaving her universe pitch black. She’d almost forgotten the memory of light, until Lucas lit a match and sat beside her in the unending darkness.

  He understood. He’d fought with death for hundreds of years, sometimes winning, sometimes not. But he knew how she felt, to comprehend a loss of life that was total and complete. And because he was the only one who did, he was the sole person with whom she could share every other human experience. There would be no other.

  “Lucas, do you ever think what would happen if . . . if I became like you?”

  And there it was. The question hung in the air, a heavy blade about to fall. The closest she’d ever come to asking him for immortality.

  “Yes, Sherry,” he whispered to her. “I think about that all the time.”

  “And? What do you think?”

  Lucas sighed. “That it would be wonderful. That it would be terrible. That the Master would never allow it. He does not see you as having any special abilities, your psychic powers notwithstanding. Why he does not consider that an amazing talent, I will never be able to understand. But if things were different, Sherry, and it was within my power, and your desire, I’d have made you my companion long ago. We could live our lives as we chose, not having to kill, and doing nothing with these unending nights except loving each other.”

  And there it was. She had her answer. It was exactly what she’d secretly hoped for, and yet devastating. Because the Master was still in the way.

  As the miraculous snow began to fall on them in soft, gentle flakes, Sherry couldn’t help but think of all that was still coming between her and Lucas. Still preventing them from living the life on high that they dreamed of. Needed. Deserved.

  ***

  Sherry’s strength was all but exhausted by the weary trudge back to the House. Lucas had offered to carry her, but she hated feeling like a helpless weakling any more than she already did. When they finally arrived, Peter and Adrian were nowhere to be found. No doubt they’d wisely decided to avoid invoking Lucas’s ire again.

  “Wait,” Lucas said, before Sherry turned down the hall to her suite. “I have something I want to give you. I think I dropped it in the parlor when I—when Peter—anyway, wait here and I’ll get it.”

  But Sherry didn’t feel safe all alone in the hall. Although Lucas assured her that the other vampires were occupied with a game of billiards, she asked to wait by his room while he retrieved the surprise. Somehow, her room didn’t feel quite safe yet either. All it would take was another knock at the door, and she would open it, expecting Lucas, and . . .

  After Lucas left, Sherry began to get very nervous, just standing outside his room in the dark. Silly of Lucas to forget that she wasn’t (yet) a vampire, and wouldn’t be able to see without a candle. She took the liberty of feeling around for the doorknob, and managed to enter his bedchamber. She slowly made her way to the nightstand, where she’d seen matches and a taper many times before. Striking a light, she gazed at the familiar surroundings, astonished by what met her eyes.

  Sketches. Hundreds and hundreds of sketches of her, strewn all over his bed.

  Sketches of her sitting, reclining, and standing. Smiling and frowning. Sleeping and waking. Most were charcoal, his usual medium. But there were a few skillfully done watercolor paintings as well.

  She picked up each one by one, touching them gingerly. She questioned whether she should be frightened or flattered by the attention he paid her in order to draw them. It was also oddly embarrassing to see so many likenesses of herself, though they all showed her in a very becoming light. In the end, she simply admired his work, marvelin
g at the time and patience it had taken to complete.

  Someone cleared his throat behind her. Of course Lucas would be standing right there.

  “Oh, um, sorry, I was just—”

  “In my room. Without my permission.”

  “In your room. Right. I mean, wrong. I know it’s wrong to invade your privacy. I just wanted a light, see, and the door was open—”

  “Unlocked. The door was unlocked, Sherry.”

  “I know. Unlocked. Which is sort of like open, when you really think about it . . .” Her voice drifted off. It sounded like a pathetic excuse, even to her. “I’m sorry. It’s just that when I came in, and I saw them all here . . .” She gestured to the pictures on the bed.

  “I see.” He wouldn’t meet her eyes. She couldn’t tell if he was angry or not. “Do you . . . like them?”

  Sherry was taken aback. “Like them? Of course I like them! They’re wonderful! The only flaw is that they’re all filled with images of me.”

  That made him smile. “Well, in case you haven’t noticed, I rather enjoy looking at you.”

  “Ah. I knew there was something sick about you.”

  The corners of his mouth turned up again, just slightly, as he began gathering the sketches. “I don’t know if I was ever going to show them to you. Not all of them, anyway. I thought, perhaps, that I was getting dangerously close to stalker territory. Unhealthy levels of obsession and all.”

  “No, I understand. You wanted to do as many as possible in case you needed something to . . .”

  They looked at one another. Sherry gave a forced smile.

  “To remember me by.”

  “Yes.” His voice was barely above a whisper.

  Then he inhaled sharply and cleared his throat. “And now, if you don’t mind, I would like to give you something. To remember me by. Just in case . . . just in case we are parted, and you . . .”

  “Manage to stay alive somehow?”

  “Yes, er, well, yes.” He reached into his back pocket and handed her a dark blue, ribboned package the size of her palm.

  “Really, Lucas, you’ve already given me so much. You don’t have to—”

  “Yes, I do. It’s the least I can offer you.”

  She handed her candle to Lucas and slowly undid the pale cream ribbon. Lifting the top, she gasped at the exquisite gold necklace it covered. Resting on a tiny bed of silk was a gilded bird in a cage, its throat open, as if it could burst into song at any moment. It was so finely crafted, she could make out patterns in the bird’s plumage, if she looked closely enough. The door of the miniature cage even swung completely open.

  There were tears in her eyes when she looked up at Lucas.

  “It’s beautiful. Thank you. I’ll wear it always.” He smiled with tender satisfaction as he reached around her neck to fasten the clasp.

  “I was going to give it to you for Christmas, but after all that’s happened, well . . .”

  “Why wait?”

  “Precisely.”

  “No, this is perfect. I’m so glad you gave it to me when you did.”

  “My only regret is that the bird can’t fly out and escape, as I’m certain she longs to.”

  “Oh, I don’t know,” said Sherry. “I fully expect she’ll find a way one of these days.”

  She wrapped her arms around Lucas’s waist.

  “Maybe she’ll even bring a friend with her,” she said, and pulled him closer for a long, passionate kiss.

  Chapter 16—An Impossible Game

  Christmas morning was a wonder. Sherry had no idea how Lucas had managed to sneak a tree into her suite without waking her up, much less arrange the mountainous pile of gifts beneath it. The tree’s decorations—bright rainbow bulbs, silver tinsel, twinkling strings of lights—spoke to her of warmth and comfort and Christmases pasts. She tried to throw her arms around Lucas to thank him, but was so weak from her earlier blood loss that the enthusiasm of the gesture was somewhat diminished. Still, he seemed to enjoy whatever affection she was capable of.

  Pain from the gash on her arm made unwrapping somewhat difficult, but Lucas was happy to help. “I wrapped them, after all. It is only appropriate that I should be the one unwrapping them,” which made Sherry laugh. There were several new books which were not in the library, including ones written when Lucas had been a boy. There were more perfumed soaps, scented lotions, and oodles of candles to replace the ones she’d burned up. Best of all, there was a brand-new deck of tarot cards, embossed with a gorgeous Victorian design. Sherry almost wanted to begin using it right away, but was reluctant to give up the old deck. It felt like a betrayal of Kaileen. Would Lucas be offended if she neglected his gift? She decided to use the new deck for readings with him and the other vampires, and keep the old one for personal divination.

  She’d been too exhausted the night before for a proper réveillon, the midnight meal that Parisians served on Christmas Eve. So Lucas had it prepared for her on Christmas Day instead. All the traditional foods were there. There was hot mulled wine, which warmed Sherry considerably, as she had less blood inside her to do that job at present. Oysters accompanied by little sausages to start. A main course of roast goose, plump full of raisin stuffing. Perhaps it was her near-death experience, or the fact that the goose didn’t look like a sleeping lovebird, but whatever the reason, Sherry heartily consumed as much of it as she could. For desert there had been the traditional Bûche de Noël—France’s answer to the Yule log.

  Her arm and neck healed fairly well over the coming months, although she made it a point to keep far, far away from either Peter or Adrian. Sometimes, she would see them in the hall, grinning at her lecherously. Whether they still craved the taste of her blood, or they were doing it just to scare her, she would always quickly turn and walk in the other direction.

  In fact, she made a point of avoiding all the other vampires. Before being fed on so unexpectedly, she’d let herself be lulled into a false sense of security. As if the brutality they were capable of would always be kept at bay. Sherry knew now that believing that had been a mistake. It was completely plausible that, at any moment, one of these creatures could erupt into uncontrollable violence that might end her life.

  She was not asked to do a group reading for quite a while, until Valentine’s Day. Although she managed to sit as far away from Peter and Adrian as possible, she was visibly shaken while doing their readings. She noticed that Thomas and Gavin were still sharing some sort of private joke—the undoing of another innocent, most likely. But she did not comment on the wicked source of their merriment, as she had done before. All her bravery seemed to have evaporated, drained like the lost blood.

  It was even worse now that Vasha had finally come out of her room. Whether the other vampires had gotten tired of transporting nourishment to her (either in the form of victims, or from their own veins), or she’d gained enough confidence to be seen again, was anybody’s guess. She glared murderously at Sherry whenever they were together, mumbling under her breath. A long emerald scarf covered her head and half of her face, which was looking much better from what Sherry could see. The angry red boils were almost gone, giving her features a scratched, pock-like appearance. Her dark honey hair had recaptured its shimmering elegance, and the burned part had grown back almost entirely. Sherry doubted she’d ever ask for another reading. Probably didn’t want to risk losing her life completely to a fire that she was certain Sherry would set.

  But the special treats from Lucas continued. More champagne—this time in honor of Valentine’s Day. A new perfume that she didn’t already have in her collection, somehow. And boxes upon boxes of handmade confections from the finest chocolatiers in France.

  Unfortunately, her secret adventures in telekinesis had all but come to an end. She certainly hadn’t been working with the swords anymore. For one thing, she was
terrified to go into the drawing room alone, beautiful as it was, since she’d nearly been killed there. Second, the loss of blood made her too tired and weak to do much of anything for a long time. When it finally occurred to her that she should, she was almost afraid to try lifting the swords again. She feared that the more she practiced with them, the stronger the likelihood she’d have to use them one day. Which made absolutely no sense, but Sherry had long ago learned that fears did not have to be rational in order to exist.

  Outings with Lucas were a welcome distraction from her anxieties. Paris held true to its tradition of moody weather as the winter marched forth into spring. One minute, there would be placid breezes and clear skies—the next, torrential rainfall and blustery gales. It was hard to know what to wear with Lucas on their excursions, so Sherry did what she had done the last few winters in France: she dressed in layers and carried an umbrella.

  As usual in her adopted city, it was hard to complain about the weather when one had the privilege of experiencing Paris in the spring. It was truly glorious. As the cold season ended, the city was dull and gray, encased in seemingly endless drizzle. Every year Sherry wondered if she’d ever see color again. Or if color had ever existed, and she’d only imagined it. But then, almost overnight, Paris exploded into a riotous rainbow affair, trees and bushes bursting with vibrant blooms. Outdoor vendors sprouted up out of nowhere, their noisy stalls displaying an infinite variety of fruits, vegetables, flowers, and clothing. Parisians put away some of their beiges, blacks, and browns, and let the bright, rich fashions of the new season come alive.

  Wouldn’t it be wonderful, Sherry thought to herself, if she and Lucas could experience this every year? The unpleasant Paris winters were almost worth it just to step out in the springtime, walking the narrow streets, holding his hand, hearing his voice. And if she were a vampire, she’d never have to worry about it being her last spring. There would be an infinite number of this beautiful season to enjoy, forever and always, with him.