“Oh …” Molly put a hand over her mouth when she opened the door to her old bedroom. There at the foot of the bed, on a dressmaker’s dummy, was a costume Thomas had ordered to be made for her. He had picked it up the day before, just in case Molly came home, and there in her room it had stayed. It was something extraordinary. The corset and dress were both velvet black, the dress itself being a single piece with a black lace overskirt. The fabric of the dress was much glossier than all its counterparts, vanishing into the corset and then reappearing at the shoulders. On the dummy’s face rested a black mask, shaped to only conceal the eyes. Touching the fabric and holding the mask in her hands, Molly was lifted from her melancholy mood. She didn’t smile, but no longer did bitterness distract her. On the dresser she found her ring exactly where she had left it. Molly put it on and watched as little points of light drew a map to Thomas. She wasted no time getting herself ready.
The cold autumn air accompanied Molly as she left the house, but it was too late to send for a coach. She opted to walk, having all the guidance she needed already. Outside a theater she happened across a coach whose passenger had refused to pay. Molly offered to pay the driver what his passenger had owed him and instructed him where to turn as her ring gave her directions. She had to admit, there were advantages to consorting with pirates if gentlemen were in short supply. The pay was nothing to scoff at. She’d made more money in one year cooking for the crew of the Scotch Bonnet than she ever had before in her life. But then her employer was uncommonly good at what he did…
Molly had the driver stop in front of Stepney Hall. Although the building looked abandoned, the ring was telling her Thomas was inside. It didn’t surprise her to find him in such a place. To be somewhere decent and unthreatening was against his character. Before Molly could pay the driver, he was already turning the coach around.
“The ride is free, ma’am,” he yelled over one shoulder, his voice wrought with fear as he glanced back at Stepney.
A bit put-off, Molly looked at her ring again to be sure she had come to the right place. The closer she stood to Stepney the brighter the little points of light glowed. Pulling her mask down over her eyes, she climbed the stoop and entered the cobwebby entryway. An usher met her immediately inside the door. Molly jerked with a start but the man didn’t notice. He’d come from nowhere and Molly had almost pulled a pistol on him.
“Good evening, ma’am. If you will follow me …” The masked usher, a vampire, as far as Molly could tell, held out a candle and led her through the anterior hall and toward the great black ballroom doors, where he placed one hand on the door and held out the other palm. “Invitation?” he said with a polite smile.
“Invitation?” Molly parroted.
“Yes, your letter of invitation, please,” the usher repeated quite patiently.
“Oh,” Molly said, thinking quickly, “I must have forgotten it, but I am expected.” Reaching into her corset she fished out the Beaumonte medallion and made sure to lean forward as she did.
“That … will do,” the usher stammered, grinning and opening the grand doors for her. He craned his neck like a giraffe as she walked by. Molly brushed her hair with one hand and smiled back. When the doors shut behind her, she pulled up her corset and fixed her hair. In one year I’ve become two women, she thought. One was a pirate; one, a lady. The pirate inside was pleased with herself and the lady was appalled and shaking her head. Molly sided with the pirate, applauding herself and her ability to turn a vampire’s head. Quickly she became a lady again and sought her gentleman, who, unbeknown to her was, at the time, being a pirate.
“I try to keep my business as full of guarantees as possible, you know,” Tom reminded Corvessa gently, taking the lead and directing the two toward the middle of the ballroom.
“Guarantees? I don’t know what you’re implying!” Corvessa declared, her emerald eyes narrowing and shining through her mask. They were dragon’s eyes, thought Tom; they were full of power and pride. He withdrew his face slightly, thinking she might breathe fire and roast his eyebrows off. She stood on her toes and leaned toward Thomas, her silk-cushion lips buzzing around his. In fear of a sting, Tom casually turned his head.
“You’re what businessmen refer to as a high-risk investment,” Tom joked, touching a hand to her cheek as she feigned a hurt expression. “I try to avoid those.”
“Not from what I can tell,” Corvessa whispered, gesturing at his scars. Stealing the lead from him, she ran her fingers through his hair and laughed.
Meanwhile, Molly had given in to her girlish wonder. Stepney Hall was as charming as any palace or castle she ever daydreamed of as a child. She easily fell in love with the beautiful ballroom. She received a great number of respectful gestures as she passed strangers. They saw her medallion and assumed she was a personal invitee of the Black Coats. At the time, the London Coats were the only sect of the cult that still held its historic esteem. A strong hand caught hers as she circumvented the dancers and a strong voice coaxed her into a waltz.
“May I?” the stranger asked. Whoever he was, he was tall, and his charisma bled through the veil that otherwise masked his presence.
“Um, yes. I’d be delighted,” Molly wasn’t really lying, deciding it would be wise not to offend anyone who may suspect her. She turned and walked arm-in-arm with the vampire onto the main floor, where he took the lead.
“You are not with the Beaumontes,” the vampire said, smiling calmly and taking Molly’s waist. “You’re mortal, aren’t you?” he asked rhetorically.
“I …” Molly was at a loss for words. Her nerves got the best of her.
“It’s all right, no one else knows,” he assured her. “I’m just surprised you found this place, and I’d like to know how you got this,” he explained, taking her medallion in his hand and inspecting it. His fingers ever so subtly caressed her cleavage and left goose bumps in their wake.
“I beg your pardon, but that’s none of your business,” Molly countered coolly, pulling away.
“A medallion bearing my family’s name, hanging around a strange woman’s neck is none of my business?” he replied, still smiling. His question insisted that Molly reconsider her attitude. “No worries, love. I didn’t mean to be brash. I’m just curious. Tell me all about it later. For now, please, let’s just enjoy the music.”
The vampire’s interest in her did not alarm Molly. His voice, touched by a French accent, was friendly and made Molly feel welcome. The stranger knew she was mortal, but he did not react as most vampires would. Molly wanted to stay and find out more about him, but soon a discomfort in her heart reminded her why she had come to the ball. “Excuse me,” Molly said as soon as the waltz ended, stepping away from the vampire.
“Of course,” he replied, releasing her hand slowly. In that moment, Molly noticed everything about the stranger that she hadn’t before. Up close, all the world had felt far away and quiet, as if she and the stranger occupied the same pocket of existence in a great expanse of darkness—as if he were one of the Stepney sculptures, stealing her from this life and planning to take her away into one of the tapestries or paintings to be his immortal companion. He was uncommonly handsome; his mask did nothing to make Molly question it. His body was long but physically adept. Dark brown, chocolate-icing hair surrounded his strong face in waves and ended in sudden thick, hooked curls below his jaw. The black and gold mask he wore covered all but one distinguishing feature of his eyes—a clover shaped birthmark below his left eye. She couldn’t be sure if it was a trick of the ballroom or one of her own imagination, but Molly wanted to distance herself from his magnetic presence.
“How are things in Paris?” Tom asked, distracting Corvessa from her hunt. He led her away from the dancers and off the main floor, looking for something to drink. He snatched a bottle of Cognac from a server.
“Paris is going to the dogs,” she answered, “and quite literally.”
Tom shot her a look. “You mean the dogs that have kept the French fro
m driving the cults out of Paris for the past ten years?”
“You made your point, Thomas,” she conceded, taking the bottle from him and pouring a glass for herself. “Yes, they call themselves the Paris Clan. Most of them came from east of les Chapelles. Their head priestess, Henriette Petit, recently pulled the regional clans together in order to give werewolves a fighting chance in affirming their national presence. The ruling powers have a revolution biting at their heels, and as soon as it draws blood, there will be thrones to take. No one wants a war, but there will be violent disagreements,” she warned.
“Sounds wild,” Thomas remarked.
“Oh it’s a free-for-all in some places,” Corvessa assured him. Thomas pressed on, having succeeded in tapping into the subject.
“So if I were to sail into a French port tonight,” Thomas hypothesized, “what are my chances of getting into the country?” He swirled the Cognac in his glass but didn’t drink.
“Ha! Have you been to France lately, Thomas? Find the right port and throw some coins at the dockworkers and you’ll slip through like water through a sieve,” she answered with a laugh, moving her fingers like water drops down his chest. “The peasants will skirt the law for breadcrumbs if you toss them some.”
“Let’s say … Le Havre?” he asked, carefully extracting information while refilling her glass and making sure to smile.
“Why not?” she said, waving her glass and keeping her dragon’s eyes on Tom’s face. “No more about problems at home, Thomas. We’re in lovely Stepney, with the whole night ahead. Let’s talk about us,” she whined, finishing her Cognac.
“Yes, of course. I’m sorry,” he apologized with a sweet smile.
“You know I know what I want,” she cooed, touching his face.
“After a few thousand years to decide, I would hope you do,” he joked.
“A few thousand…” Corvessa chuckled quietly and gave him a shove. “You know how to make me feel young.” The more she tried to charm him, the less Tom was affected. He had the queen of vampires wrapped around his finger and he still felt alone. His attention left her, and his eyes wandered the ballroom. He’d felt something, and just as he noticed the feeling, a stranger approached him, wearing Molly’s ring.
Molly followed the little points of light until they aligned perfectly, flashed brightly, and then receded into the gemstone in her little ring. Straight ahead, she saw a familiar young man dressed in a black jacket and trousers that matched her dress. He looked at her as if he were lost. Two deep blue eyes watched her beneath his mask. Without hesitation, she approached him, pushing past smiling, laughing strangers who barely noticed her. “Thomas?” she said softly, looking at the young man and hoping it was really him.
“And who is this?” came a voice from her left. A vampire in an ivy green dress stepped between her and Thomas, her emerald eyes bearing down on Molly through her mask.
“Excuse me,” Molly muttered, stepping around Corvessa and taking Thomas by the hand. Corvessa’s eyes followed the two of them as they made their way to the end of the ballroom and out onto the open balcony.
Away from the crowded ballroom and in the fresh open air, Molly and Tom stood alone on the grand balcony overlooking the wilderness beyond Stepney. Tom looked at Molly for what felt like an hour. “I didn’t think I’d be seeing you again so soon,” he said quietly.
“I hadn’t planned on coming back,” Molly admitted, unable to look him in the eyes. “The dress is lovely, Thomas,” she said, running her hands over the fabric thoughtfully. Tom almost spoke again but Molly cut him off. “It has been a long time since he died, but having to remember the pain and knowing that you were the one who …” She wasn’t sure what she meant to say to him. “I just want you to know why I left, and I’m telling you this tonight so that you’ll understand me better.”
Tom’s oceanic blue eyes shone through his black mask as he listened carefully to everything Molly’s face and body did. They searched for her true meaning.
“You deserve my explanation, but I also deserve your understanding,” she continued, managing to look at him for the first time that evening. “It isn’t fair of me to ask you to explain yourself. We didn’t exist to one another those years ago. He was just another man to you, and everything to me.”
“If I had known,” began Tom.
“Thomas,” she interrupted again, hushing him with a stern finger, “Do not say a word until I am through.” A wisp of fire flared from her ruby ring, reflecting the blaze in her eyes.
He ignored her request. “I just want to make sure you understand that I came here alone, and that she…” He couldn’t quite explain Corvessa.
“Whoever she was does not matter.” Molly cut him off for the third time. “I know you well enough to know she means nothing to you.” This stung Tom, evoking alarm, and she didn’t realize it.
“She really doesn’t.”
“Thomas! I will put a bullet through that pretty smile if you don’t keep quiet!” she warned, jabbing a finger into his chest. Shaking her head and taking a deep breath, she placed her hand on him gently, apologetically, and turned to look out into the distance. After a moment, she spoke again, softer. “If you feel you must do something to console me, I have no recommendations except to allow time to do the healing for me. Do not comfort me with cheer or love.” Molly’s eyes watched her hand, palm resting on Thomas’s chest. Was she pushing him away or holding on?
“I think I understand,” Tom replied. He did not move, look away or touch her. “I’ll neither console you nor apologize,” he promised.
“Good,” she whispered, shutting her eyes and nodding. “I’ll ask only one thing of you,” she continued.
An expectant splash of dread soaked the color in Tom’s eyes. “If you should wish me not to come after you—”
“No.” Molly shook her head and took her hand away, standing tall and turning to the balcony, her hands resting on the rail. Luna Mater looked her in the face and stole away the color in her skin. An autumnal breeze tossed her cinnamon hair. “Thomas Crowe, you are to be my husband.” Molly listened for his silence and received it. It meant he had no objections. “Not now,” she clarified. “I’m far too angry right now. But seeing as every other man who walks into my life immediately shortens his longevity tenfold …”
Fixing the cuff on his left hand, Tom mutely turned to rest against the balcony next to her, turning his eyes on the landscape beyond. The dread ebbed from his eyes and a warm current flowed into them. A single shooting star raced recklessly over the open heavens above. Blazing bright but before vanishing from view, it was chased by another, which streaked across the sky after it. What were the odds they were headed in the same direction, thought Tom to himself. “Let’s go see where they landed,” Tom said, stepping away from the balcony.
“What?” she replied, her mind coming back to surface of a deep reservoir of thought. She instinctively took Thomas’s hand when he held it out to her. It was strong and warm, so she put her other hand in it as well.
“This way,” he said, leading her down a gently spiraling stone staircase at the corner of the balcony.
Leaving Stepney behind, they descended the stairs onto a paved path that disappeared into the forest ahead. Standing astride the path were what appeared to be lamp posts. Upon closer inspection, Molly found them to be saplings with no limbs, that each ended in blooms comprised of swarming bubbles of light, illuminating the trail for them. The natural sounds around them mimicked the characteristics of music. It was as if the night were humming a tune.
After following the trail for some time, the paved path wore out and vanished near the banks of a lake, cradled in the lap of a valley. A weak snow had begun to fall, but the air was mild. After a moment it became clear that the snowflakes were the bubbles of light from the saplings along the trail. The wind had filled the air with them. While Molly was distracted by the show, Tom walked down to the lakeshore and dug around in his jacket pocket. Unable to find the object h
e’d put in it, he gave up and knelt down on one knee at the water’s edge. “Ta, sissesh frah mes, sissesh aqua,” he said in imperfect Gresh, slowly touching just the tips of his longest fingers to the water’s surface. It began to freeze and crystallize as he spoke. “Sissesh aqua, sissesh,” he repeated again and again, stepping onto the still surface. Molly stood on shore and watched him as he went. Turning around and looking at her, Tom gestured for Molly to join him on the ice. Molly nervously put a foot on the ice, then the other. After a few tender steps she scurried over to Tom and clung to his jacket. The ice groaned and thumped, reaching the far ends of the lake and settling.
Unhooking Molly’s fingers from his jacket, Tom took her hands and began to teach. “Sissesh, aqua,” he said clearly, waiting for her to repeat his words. As she did, he showed her how to relax her middle, ring finger and pinky, while barely moving her forefinger in circles and bending her wrist rhythmically to the right. He stopped speaking the incantation and added another. “Now,” he said, “Sissesheh, brah’kas ahn aqua, ets aht!” With some difficulty, Molly repeated after him, and then squeaked with alarm as a circular area of ice in the middle of the lake broke violently into shards and the water beneath rushed up and away from the surface of the lake. “Ta, des a’mes fuy!” Tom commanded, seizing control of the water and shaping it. He held out both hands—fingers clenched and arms tense. His right arm directed the stream round and round and the left ordered it to bow and form a hemisphere. Turning his hands palm-down and lowering his clenched fingers as if to scratch the air, he pulled down six columns of water from the levitating dome. “Sisseh, aqua! Sissesh gra’das’i!” he commanded, freezing the shape rapidly and sealing up the lake’s surface again as he set the large mass down. Molly shielded her eyes as a spray of fine sleet whipped up. Tom rattled off another series of spells and began to carve the mass.
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