Parsons came down the stairs and there he was. Dennis. Coming in from the sun, he wore gloves and a hooded cloak, which he pushed back once he crossed the threshold. He looked pale but alive; one would certainly never guess he’d been through such an ordeal. He was wearing a dark suit from the Fallen Lands, with a vest and necktie and polished black shoes. He looked at Parsons with green eyes that seemed much more striking in the warm light of her foyer.
“Parsons, this is Mr. Dennis Faraday,” Calban said, like they’d never met before. “Miss Parsons Belvray.”
Dennis just kept his eyes on her.
“You aren’t very familiar with Fanarlem, I know,” Calban said to Dennis. “The Fanarlem race is one of the hardest things for human visitors to get used to. All the more reason it would be good for him to spend a little time here. The most important thing to bear in mind is that Miss Belvray is special. She was born flesh and blood. Other Fanarlem, however, are inferior souls. You’ll see the servants around and about on occasion.”
Parsons hadn’t realized how hard it would be to pretend she had never met Dennis in front of Papa.
“I don’t want to put Parsons in the position of having to teach humans what a Fanarlem is,” Papa said. “That isn’t her responsibility.”
“Of course not. Mr. Faraday will treat your daughter with due respect, or he will be removed immediately. Won’t you, Faraday?”
“Yes,” Dennis said. But he might have said anything, in this position. He was still staring at her and Papa looked at him with a dubious expression.
“I thought it might be enjoyable for Parsons,” Calban continued. “I know she regrets that Fanarlem can’t go to the Fallen Lands. The next best thing is to bring the Fallen Lands to her.”
“Well.” Papa nodded, obviously trying to be agreeable. “I certainly do like a good story from a traveler. And Mr. Faraday, maybe I can pick your brain about a few things. I don’t suppose you ever served in the military, did you?”
“No. The world was pretty peaceful when I left.”
“Have you traveled on trains often?”
“Yes, I’ve done plenty of that.”
“Off and running,” Calban said. “Mr. Faraday, I believe Mr. Belvray has a guest wing, and I’ll bring in your suitcase.”
Her father briefly paused at the assumption that he would give Mr. Faraday the guest wing, but Parsons looked at him and nodded. “I think it will be exciting to have an American guest,” she said, although her voice ended up sounding falsely chipper, strained through her nerves.
Papa knew her well enough. He could tell something was up. But he had to be loyal to Calban’s orders. “All right, Mr. Faraday, come this way.” He led Dennis up the stairs.
Calban brought in his suitcase, which he held like it weighed nothing. “Just socks and underwear here,” he said. “Remember to take him shopping.” He removed a small silver wand from his pocket. “He has bands around his wrists infused with a lightning spell. This is the key to the spell. If you need to activate the lightning, pinch the wand between your fingers and spin it like this…” He demonstrated, like the wand was a pencil and his fingers were a sharpener. “Five times. He doesn’t know you have the activator. You should try your best to earn his trust. And your father thinks the spell will be set off automatically if Dennis attacks someone. But in fact, it's all up to you. Watch him closely.”
Parsons slipped the wand in her pocket.
Calban kissed the top of her head. “Don’t look glum. Enjoy being in charge.”
Papa came down the main staircase as she was about to come up with the suitcase. “Is it heavy? I can get that.”
“No. I don’t mind,” Parsons said. “Calban says we need to take him out to get new clothes.”
“Calban says everyone needs new clothes.”
“I mean, he really does. There’s nothing in here.” Parsons threw the suitcase in the air and caught it again. “I could drive him into the city.”
“I don’t mind hosting a guest, but I don’t like the idea of sending you out alone with him.”
“I’m not afraid of him. In fact, I’m sure I’m safer with him than when I’m alone.”
Papa’s brow furrowed. “I’ve told you not to go into rough neighborhoods.”
“I’m not talking about rough neighborhoods. I’m talking about everywhere, including work.” Parsons slipped past him on the stairs, where he had paused. “Don’t worry about me. I know you were in the middle of something.”
He looked grateful to be able to return to his beloved dimly lit basement and not have an uncomfortable discussion about how men treated Parsons. When Parsons was a little girl, Mama was often down in the basement with him, both of them spreading their projects out and tinkering on things, forgetting all about the real world together.
She climbed the stairs to the landing, which stretched off into three long hallways. One was the guest wing, and the other two belonged to her and Papa. Dennis was standing in the hall near her bedroom, looking at the photographs hanging on the wall, including several of Mama and Parsons when she had a real body. In others, she had her childhood Fanarlem body and was usually with Els. Papa invited Els to all of their holidays to perk up the place, which worked out well because her family celebrated Miralem holidays, which fell on different days.
“What are you doing?” Parsons thrust his suitcase at him and pointed him the other way. “You belong down there.”
“Forgive my natural curiosity,” he said. “This house looks so much like my own childhood home, although larger…”
“That was the idea. To look like America.”
“It’s like walking into a dream.” He took the suitcase, although he was still staring at the photos. “I never knew about vampires until I became one; you’d think that would prepare me for anything. But my eyes had never had to accept anything so foreign to their experience as the sight of one of your people. It’s still startling.”
She frowned. “Didn’t you hear the general? They’re not ‘my people’. Fanarlem are their own race. A slave race. I’m a real girl.”
“You don’t look like one. What I’m trying to say is—”
“Yes, what are you trying to say?”
“I don’t mean to offend you.”
“Too late.”
“I mean—that’s what I’m trying to say. I don’t mean to offend you. But I will. I can’t pretend that the sight of you doesn’t shock me.”
She studied him a moment, her eyes following the line of his arm, the hand tucked in his pocket, the creases of his jacket. His stance was both casual and confident. Once upon a time, he’d had a place in the world, and you could still see it, that sense of belonging somewhere and being someone. He was not as tall as most Daramons, who often had their legs shape-shifted an inch or two taller if they failed to reach six feet, but he was still much taller than she was. His hair was an unusual color, dark blond with the faintest hint of red. His skin was very pale, perhaps a side effect of his undead condition because zombies looked much the same, but he had some faint freckles upon close inspection, and his lips still had a little more color. His lips, especially the lower one, were fairly full in the center of his mouth but then narrowed quickly into sharp edges that leant well to sarcastic, crooked grins.
And those green eyes.
Parsons took all of this in, in the space of a long second, and it hit her hard. It’s true. I am attracted to him. And he can hardly stand to look at me.
Well, she reasoned. Attraction doesn’t really mean anything. It’s not love. It’s just noticing the fact that he happened to be born into a nice-looking body and he has some seductive magic.
Her attempts to reason this away didn’t seem to lessen the sting.
“You have a lot of books in English,” he said.
“Did you look in my room?”
“It’s been so long since I’ve seen a house like this. I only peered in.”
Parsons wanted to sink through the floor. She still ha
d Bluette in a little bed the doll shared with her teddy bear, and a shelf of children’s books; girlish wallpaper and a train set and all the other trappings of childhood.
“I need to give a lot of my things to the poor,” she said. “I’m so busy working, I never get around to it.”
“I might like to read some of your American books.”
“Have you read L. Frank Baum’s novels?” Parsons asked, realizing those books might provide her a sort of defense for herself. “They’re American, aren’t they?”
“Yes. I did read part of The Wonderful Wizard of Oz to my nephew. I was a little old for them.”
“Well, they have all sorts of artificial people in them who are much scarier than I am. I’m not made of straw and my skin isn’t made of tin plates. And I’m certainly not made of patches, or…pumpkin headed.”
“Those are stories,” he said. “In stories, magic is safe. In real life, it’s upsetting.”
“But…you never wished—you never felt like something was missing?”
“No,” he said. “Well…yes. But that’s different.” He shook his head. “My room is down here?”
“Yes. That first door on the right.”
He walked away and shut himself in his room, while she shut herself in hers. She was very conscious of the sound of his footsteps creaking on the floors and even the thump of his suitcase being dropped on the floor. As if, somehow, the entire world shifted and she had fallen under a spell. She hardly knew what to do with herself; she was absurdly delighted to have him here and at the same time, miserable beyond words.
Was this how Els felt about her various boys? Parsons couldn’t imagine feeling overwhelmed by the presence of Venn Dawvry.
But there was no logical reason on earth to feel this way about Dennis Faraday either.
Chapter Ten
Papa settled the question of Dennis needing a wardrobe. Without informing her, he sent two of the male servants out with him.
“Calban wanted me to accompany Dennis,” Parsons protested, meeting him in the basement. He was dismantling what looked like a telephone in a tool box.
“Now that the general isn’t around, tell me what you really think,” he murmured around his pipe while unscrewing the telephone’s casing. “I can tell you weren’t entirely comfortable with this arrangement.”
“I was surprised—not uncomfortable. And I’m curious to ask him questions. I know more about buying clothes than the servants. It’s not like he could hurt me.” Calban was impossible. How was she supposed to keep a close eye on Dennis without explaining it to her father?
“He certainly could.” He looked at her with a fatherly expression that plainly said her body was fragile and she was very precious to him and he would throw Dennis in prison for the next century if he so much as broke her arm.
“Well, he can’t kill me. He’s coming to work with me tomorrow.”
He frowned, grunting over the next screw. “There’s something about him that puts me on edge.”
Parsons shrugged and walked over to the table, leaning on it almost in front of him. “Calban told me Mama had twenty men working under her. I think I can handle Mr. Faraday.”
He sighed. “All right. But first, leave early and buzz him around the palace. Press upon him that Lord Jherin is a powerful man. Remind him who is in control. Mr. Faraday has physical strength, and that can make a person cocky, but it’s nothing in the scheme of things.”
Parsons drew back from the table, vaguely uncomfortable again. It was a sensible request, to make sure Dennis understood Lord Jherin’s power, but it was unusual for Papa to speak of keeping people in line.
I don’t want him to have a loyalty band, Parsons thought. It’s changing him.
But she could never say that. Papa had been waiting for this honor for so long.
Dennis returned in time to share dinner with them.
Parsons brought her pet tarantula, Alexandra. Her intention was not to make Dennis uncomfortable, but because she wanted a convenient distraction during the meal in case things got awkward. She always felt better with one of her pets around. Still, Alexandra was usually the least popular with the public at large.
She could tell immediately that Dennis was surprised by Alexandra, but not afraid of her. That was certainly a point in his favor.
“Really, do we need a spider at the dinner table?” Papa asked.
“I used a tethering spell so she’ll stay close. She won’t bother anyone.” Alexandra scurried up Parsons’ arm and into her hair.
Papa glanced at Dennis with a faint laugh. “I do spoil her.”
“I don’t mind,” Dennis said.
“Was the mission successful?” Papa asked.
“Two new suits will be delivered.” Dennis moistened his lips, glancing at the door, before refocusing on her father with what seemed like a great effort. “You have a veritable little Manhattan growing out there.”
“You think so? I am so glad to hear that. It was exactly our intention. Our land mass has a lot in common with Manhattan. The shape, the bedrock.”
The footman, with a stoic look that betrayed his discomfort, brought Dennis a cup of warm blood. Parsons realized immediately that this was why Dennis looked so agitated; he could smell it coming. His reaction to blood seemed almost involuntary; she got the feeling that it took everything he had not to spring to his feet and tear the cup out of the servant’s hand. Every moment of his life must require a certain level of control unless he lived all alone.
Still, he waited for the cup to be set before him, clenching his napkin in one hand. He drank it in several swigs rather than gulps. He’s trying to be a gentleman.
“Do you drink other things, Mr. Faraday?” Papa asked.
“Liquor? Yes. It seems to help.”
“Isn’t that the truth.” Papa got up himself to pour some stiffer drinks. Drinking was his balm, since Mama’s death, and occasionally he drank enough that she worried, but he always managed to reel himself back in. “So, you’re from America.”
“Yes.” Dennis looked so uncomfortable that Parsons struggled not to squirm. He hates us.
“What part?”
“Western Maryland. Cumberland.”
“I’m not familiar with that city.”
“It was once an outpost of George Washington, if you’re familiar with history.”
“Mm,” Papa said, and Parsons didn’t think he was very familiar with history. He only knew about cities, machines, and warfare—but never the people involved. In fact, he was fairly disinterested in politics even in their own world, which was partly why she always struggled with politics herself. They weren’t discussed at home like in many families. “And what are the railroads like?”
But Dennis' eyes had roamed to the print of Lord Jherin that hung on the wall.
It had been there for Parsons’ entire life. She didn’t even see it anymore. But their home was new to Dennis, and he definitely saw it. The print was taken from a photograph, capturing a beautiful, imperious face with fine features, dark eyes and hair, a stiff collar that stood up around his neck and the black-winged headdress.
“What do you think are some of the common pitfalls, from a passenger perspective? Wait—I should get a notebook,” Papa said, abandoning his soup halfway through the bowl.
Dennis raised his eyebrows and lifted his glass to Lord Jherin. “You win this round, sir—whatever it is you want with me.” He took another drink. “But I will admit, this is a more pleasant prison.”
“I—I hope so,” Parsons stammered. “I mean, I hope it’s not a prison at all.”
“That wasn’t very much blood,” he said, looking at the empty cup, which still had a faint red stain ringing its interior. “Calban wants to make this difficult for me.”
“Oh—I’m sure—they will bring more in the morning.” She didn’t know what to say, how to make excuses for Calban. Was that true? She couldn’t fathom why Calban would let Dennis go free only to keep him dangerously hungry.
/> “I don’t think so.” He gave her a sardonic smile. “He has always relished testing my willpower.”
“He said you had a history,” Parsons whispered, ears pricked for her father’s footsteps. That notebook was probably all the way down in the basement.
“I’d rather not talk about it.” He thrust a hand through his bangs and finished off the glass. Then he put the glass down hard and looked at her with an expression that made her shudder. This went deeper than she’d realized.
What did Calban do to him? What would he do to him? He wouldn’t—
Her mind raced, trying to square the memory of Calban handing her a neatly wrapped package of records and smiling as she opened it. Parsons, my dear, I know you are going to love Tannhäuser.
Papa came back with his notebook, and for most of the dinner she couldn’t manage more than an occasional faint smile. She struggled to eat and spent more time watching Alexandra climb around.
The next morning was her true test. In the morning, she didn’t eat breakfast. She sent the maids away. She was too agitated for food or company. She could hear Dennis open the guest room door, his footsteps coming down the stairs.
She checked her appearance in the mirror again, combing her hair, trying to imagine what he saw when he gazed at her. She existed in a strange in-between; although she was never entirely pleased with the doll-like perfection of her features, she had also long since passed the point of being able to imagine herself as a flesh and blood girl again. Her mouth was rather thin-lipped and sad, her eyes huge and dark with thick black lashes, slightly obscured by the fringe of bangs that she kept long enough to hide her eyes if she bent her head. Her face was thinner and slightly more angular than most Fanarlem, to mimic her mother. She was very much herself. No other Fanarlem looked like her.
She joined Dennis in the parlor. He was reading the newspaper and seemed to be waiting for her. With his hands raised, she could see the silver bands around his wrists.
“I’m told I am supposed to go with you today,” he said, standing up. He was wearing the same suit as yesterday; the new ones probably hadn’t arrived.
The Vampire's Doll (The Heiress and the Vampire Book 1) Page 11