The Vampire's Doll (The Heiress and the Vampire Book 1)

by Jaclyn Dolamore

  Someone had torn out Dolly Dingle and replaced her with “Parsons Prickles”, and they had spent a lot of time drawing her too. There was an unpleasantly good likeness of her, face frowning and arms crossed, wearing a ruffled white chemise and drooping black stockings, with crude stitches at her joints like a slave Fanarlem. She was surrounded by drab black dresses that looked almost the same but had different names: “Her Week-End Best”, “Her Most Judgmental”, “Her Ballgown”.

  Parsons let out a strangled sound somewhere between pain and rage. She looked at Lu. “Who keeps doing these?”

  Lu looked down, flushed. “I’m not sure.”

  “What is this?” Dennis asked.

  “Never mind. Don’t look. I want to rip someone’s eyes out!”

  He had obviously seen the paper anyway. “It must be one of the artists.”

  “They tease me, too,” Lu said unhelpfully.

  Parsons turned toward the window, struggling off a brief wave of misery. She squared her shoulders. They teased Lu too? Not the same way.

  “I’m sorry you had to see this,” she told Dennis. “Don’t say anything.”

  The door to the conference room opened and the voices of the men were suddenly much louder, laughing over something; probably not her, at least, because one of them said, “And then we’ll launch the Titanic.”

  Their laughter died down when they saw Dennis, and they all looked at him. She noticed Mr. Samaron most of all. He was standing there with a clipboard. His mouth drew into a line of displeasure, like he had seen her with another man. As if he had any claim on her!

  “A human,” Mr. Denordin said. “The general said he might send a human, but I didn’t think he meant so soon. I’m Eldin Denordin. Welcome to Product Development.” He started to bow and then offered a hand instead.

  “Dennis Faraday. And I’m not exactly a human. I’m a vampire. I am a guest of Miss Belvray.” His tone was cool and he made eye contact with every man in the room as he spoke.

  Parsons wasn’t sure if any of them knew what a vampire was, exactly. She remembered, upon meeting Dennis, that she had a sense of being prey even though she didn’t have blood. She wondered if they felt it too. There was something about Dennis; you knew what he was without being told. Even a couple of the cockiest younger men shied back from his eyes.

  “A vampire?” Mr. Samaron was the one to ask. “I’ve never heard of that.”

  “Read Bram Stoker,” Dennis said. “I assume you have Dracula around here somewhere in this mess.”

  He reached for Pictorial Review and she stiffened. There was a mutual intake of breath from a few of them and an uncomfortable chuckle from Mr. Anison, the tallest young man in the art department. “I wouldn’t—here, let me see that—”

  Dennis handed him the magazine. “It’s yours?” he asked. “You’re quite the artist.”

  “Yes—I mean no. No, no. It’s Miss Belvray’s.”

  “But you’re going to take it now.” His words were weighted with threat.

  “Oh, no. It’s not mine.”

  Dennis opened the magazine to the paper doll. “I’d certainly like to see your portfolio,” he said to Mr. Anison. Then he thrust the magazine at him. “I think you lost something.”

  Mr. Anison took the magazine, his eyes wide. “I’ll just put it in the archives.”

  Dennis kept his eyes on Mr. Anison just long enough that he backed into one of the other men, trying to worm his way out of the scene.

  Dennis' lips ticked upward slightly. “I look forward to working with all of you, if you have any questions about America. Miss Belvray said you don’t understand baseball.”

  They relaxed the tiniest bit, but no one seemed to be breathing.

  “That’s certainly true,” said Mr. Denordin, who was the only one to look relieved. He was probably thrilled that someone else was standing up for Parsons so he didn’t have to. “Hitting a ball with a stick? What’s the point?”

  “It’s a…sport,” Dennis said, resorting to the English word as he realized there was no translation. “You don’t have sports? It’s a competition with teams. It’s like going to battle, in a way—but as a game, with different rules.”

  “Game battle,” someone repeated, like they finally understood the idea.

  “If you have a stick and a ball, I can try and show you out there in that large hall,” Dennis said.

  They looked interested. “I have a staff, we could use that if nobody breaks it.” “Hey, didn’t you have a ball in your desk?”

  While they rummaged around the office, Dennis looked at her. “I apologize; you told me not to say anything, but…”

  “No, thank you,” Parsons whispered. “You handled it very well.”

  He shook his head. “I must say, if I could practice law as a vampire I’d probably win a lot of cases.”

  No one bothered Parsons the rest of the day; in fact, they all went to try out baseball in the hall and came back in a good mood. She actually had time to read Motion Picture Magazine and eat some old chocolates she’d left in her desk.

  Dennis was in continual demand. He talked about motor car trips on bad roads and the American Civil War. He thoroughly explained Santa Claus and the purpose of clowns. She listened to him across the room while pretending to work.

  She couldn’t tell if he was actually enjoying himself. He always seemed aloof.

  When it came time for lunch, the men offered to take him out to eat. They never invited her, not that she would have said yes anyway. She sat alone on a bench outside and unwrapped a single pastry.

  Suddenly he was joining her on the bench. It was a shame he had to wear a cloak because his hair would probably pick up the sun so nicely.

  “I thought you were going with them,” she said, surprised.

  He scoffed and sat down beside her. She realized he was holding a bottle of dark bubbly liquid—the Coca Cola. The men must have asked him for his opinion. “This is terrible,” he said.

  “I didn’t think it was so bad. But I wouldn’t know.”

  “I haven’t had one in twelve years. Maybe the blood has ruined my taste. But it’s bitter.”

  She waved a hand as a bumblebee hovered around her face.

  “Is it like that every day?” he asked.

  She knew what he meant but was reluctant to answer. “It’s a temporary job,” she said. “Besides, is it any better where you come from? I’ve gotten the impression that the only job women have in America is typing and working switchboards.”

  “Nah,” he said. “It’s not any better.” He lit another cigarette. She realized he’d filched the whole tin from her glove box. It was just as well; otherwise Els would have them.

  “Here I am,” he continued, “in a world where magic is real, and what do I find? A living doll girl driving to work just to sit at a desk, bent over a typewriter, in an office full of men with suits. Copying ads from Harper’s. You’re right about one thing. You’re not from the Wonderful World of Oz. You’re from the Post-Industrialized World of Oz.”

  “Well, real life can’t be like a story.”

  “What was here before all of this existed?”

  “Other buildings that have since been torn down. More space for ritual, I think. The old Wodrenarunes used to have more spectacle. They walked out to the Court of Fates wearing their finest regalia to deliver proclamations all the time. And people would bow, and priests would call blessings, and criminals were burned to death by sorcerers in front of everyone.” She picked at her pastry. “Earth was all my parents ever talked about. To be honest…I hardly know what was here before.”

  “What is the most magical thing here to see? Because I’d like to see that.”

  “I think it’s…me,” Parsons said.

  He looked at her for a longer moment, and his face was very serious. She could see that he was forcing himself, in the way his jaw set a little more firmly and a muscle in his neck tightened. She would have given anything for him to stop looking at her like that
.

  His eyes were searching. Had anyone ever looked at her the way he did? Like he was trying to find the real girl inside of her.

  “This is all I am,” she said, with awkward abruptness.

  “What do you mean?”

  “I mean—don’t look at me like that. I know what you’re doing.”

  “What am I doing?”

  “You saw my photo on the wall, of when I was real. You’re looking for her.”

  His eyes dropped. She wasn’t wrong.

  That stupid fortune teller said he felt the same, deep down, that he had feelings for her too. If he did, it was only because she didn’t make him hungry. The thing that made him feel normal around her also made her strange.

  But she couldn’t stop looking at him, even though it was uncomfortable. Some desperate feeling swept over her whenever she saw him. She thought of that ridiculous dream, and stared at his hands, wishing she knew what it was like to feel his touch.

  “I don’t know what you want from me,” he said.

  “I don’t—want anything,” she said, flustered.

  “Am I going to work here with you for years to come? Are you my jailer?” He rubbed the silver bracelets.

  “No!” she said, and then she wasn’t sure why she’d been so quick to lie. He just looked like he’d never trust her if she told the truth.

  “What’s the point of all this?”

  Calban said that someday she might be able to head a vampire study department. All because she had no blood. Not because of her own merits. And if she told him that, what would he say? Obviously, like any thinking person, he didn’t want to be studied. Meanwhile, she would be given a loyalty band, sealing her fate to this place, assuring she would never work for anyone but Lord Jherin.

  Her chest felt tight and she got to her feet. “I don’t know what plan Lord Jherin has for our fate,” she said. “I’m just obeying orders.”

  He got to his feet as well, in one impossibly swift and fluid motion, and put a hand to her waist, holding her in place. She felt his fingers curling around the small of her back.

  Her legs felt weak.

  “He sent his courier this morning,” Dennis said. “With blood for my breakfast. But the courier also took a vial of blood from me. Do you know what that’s about? What does he want my blood for?”

  “I don’t know.”

  His hand gripped her jaw and he looked in her eyes like he was drinking the truth out of her. She was trembling. She felt like he would surely sense her attraction for him, and she would die of humiliation if he did.

  “Take your hands off me,” she said, her voice low. At least, small as she was, she didn’t have a petite voice. She could easily drop it to a fairly menacing pitch. “I don’t know anything, Dennis, but I’m on your side.”

  He let go of her but he didn’t apologize.

  “That’s all right, Miss Belvray,” he said, although he didn’t sound like it was all right. “I understand—you’re just a pawn.” He picked up his coffee cup and headed back to the building.

  Against Parsons’ better judgment, she rushed to Els’ house that evening.

  “Els just got home from dancing practice,” her mother said. “She should probably get ready for dinner.”

  “I’ll be quick,” Parsons said. “I have to get home for my own dinner. I really need to talk to her.”

  “I suppose it’s all right for a candle.” The Halnari measured chunks of time by “candles” regardless of whether a candle was lit. Just more reasons that Els’ parents seemed strange. “I heard you were offered a loyalty band.”

  Parsons bounced on her toes, itching to get past the gatekeeper. “Yes, well, I don’t know.”

  “Congratulations for such an honor, whatever you decide.” Her mother smiled in her unreadable way as she shut the door. Even though Els had been taught to believe in the goddess rather than the Wodrenarune’s decrees, clearly her parents admired Lord Jherin in a practical way. “I hope you can come to Els’ next dance performance, by the way. She always forgets to tell her friends.”

  “Maybe.” Parsons tried to avoid the dance performances. She liked to see Els. She didn’t like having to sit next to her parents.

  Her mother smiled, then glided off, the train of her robes skimming the spotless marble floor.

  Parsons ran up the stairs to Els’ room. She was removing makeup from her dance performance, still dressed in her costume: a robe of sheer green silk with thick raw blue silk beneath. She turned from the mirror as soon as Parsons ran in. “Parsons! I heard.”

  “About Dennis?”

  “He’s staying at your house?”

  Parsons bit the inside of her lip and nodded.

  “So…the Peacock General asked you to torture him…and now he wants you to entertain him? Why?”

  “He’s testing me. I’m the only one who can work with a vampire because I don’t have any blood. Els—don’t laugh—” She sat down beside her at the mirror. “I can’t stop thinking about him.”

  Els looked like the cat who caught the mouse. “I knew it! I knew it!” she crowed. “Finally, we can talk about boys.”

  “Ugh,” Parsons said. “I’m already starting to regret telling you. For one thing, Dennis isn’t a boy.”

  “You wouldn’t be attracted to a mere boy, I suppose.”

  “But you should have seen him at work today. They made a paper doll of me today, stuck in one of the magazines. It was so embarrassing and he saw it and he threatened the man who did it. Just by the way he looked at them.”

  “He sounds a little scary.”

  “You should have seen the doll, Els.” She rubbed her hand across her forehead, one elbow on the desk. “But he doesn’t trust me. He knows Calban asked me to keep watch over him. And he told me that the first time he saw a Fanarlem, he almost went into shock. He said I don’t look like a real girl…”

  “I’m sure he just needs time to get used to you.” Els closed her jar of makeup removal cream and pushed it back with the mess of vivid cosmetics used for dance performances. The Halnari didn’t wear any makeup normally, but in their dance theater they often used shocking colors like blue lips or pink eyeshadow.

  “I don’t know,” Parsons said. “He’s human. He’s already grown up with an idea of what a woman should be.” She shut her eyes. “Wretched me.”

  “Oh, no, don’t be like that.” Els put an arm around her. “You have to give it a chance.”

  “It’s hopeless. It really is. Whenever you fall in love, or whatever it is you do, you’re so confident,” Parsons said. “I never feel that way. I don’t think I can.”

  “Your poor little head.” Els rose and stepped out of the outer layer of her dance costume like a molting insect, leaving it to pile on the floor. “I think part of your problem is that you don’t have anyone to look up to. No other Fanarlem woman to point the way. Just slaves and concubines. Slaves are asexual. Concubines are nothing but sex. And none of them are anything like you.” She pulled the blue silk tunic over her head and tossed it on her bed, standing there in her silk stockings and lace-trimmed underthings, like she was just trying to make Parsons feel awkward with her flesh-and-blood curves. “So of course you don’t want to align yourself with any of that. But then, how are you supposed to be intimate with anyone when you can’t find the in-between?”

  “Slow down,” Parsons said. “I’m not even thinking about sex.” Well, maybe a little bit… “I need to fall in love first.”

  “Yeah, but one leads to another and no one can even consider getting close to you because—look, you’re still wearing driving gloves.” She pointed at Parsons’ hands. “How often do we go out and you never take those gloves off? You’re hiding your eyes behind your hair and wearing wool stockings all summer. You have nice legs; I think I saw them once.”

  “This is beside the point,” Parsons said. “I’m not trying to seduce Dennis.”

  “When was the last time you saw yourself naked?”

  “I don�
��t know.”

  “Do you see that there might be a larger problem here? Even if Dennis started seeing you as a woman, you would shove him away.”

  Parsons couldn’t argue that this was true, but instead she just said, “You always make everything so vulgar.”

  “I want to try something,” Els said.

  Parsons didn’t like the gleam in Els’ eyes.

  “Not now, though. Next time we go to Wonderland Park.”

  “I’m not going to the peep show,” Parsons said, her mind jumping to the raciest thing there.

  Els laughed. “No. Not that. But we can’t do it now, I have to get something first.”

  “You have to ‘get’ something?”

  Els now grabbed one of her everyday dresses, a slim dark pink, which was crumpled on the bed from when she had obviously traded day clothing for her dance costume. “Never mind that for now. Can I meet him?”

  “Maybe. Eventually.” Fates, she didn’t want to see those two together.

  Chapter Eleven

  She quickly grew used to having Dennis around. She was always happy to come into the library and find him there, a welcome surprise. He would talk about books and tease her a bit, and she would pretend to be annoyed. And it comforted her, at night, to know someone else was just a few bedrooms down. Papa often was up late working.

  She looked forward to their morning drive, and after a few days she realized he was itching to try the Cadillac, so she started letting him drive home. He often spent the luncheon break talking to her as well. Their conversations were growing more real. But it was more uncomfortable when he was around other people. There was a sense of barely restrained power that surrounded him at all times. He watched everyone carefully.

  And even when he spoke to her, she sensed the hunger within him. Just because she had no blood to satisfy it didn’t mean it wasn’t there. It surrounded him with a sense of pent desire. Or was it her own desire reflecting back at her? If she touched his back, she felt sure her hand would meet muscles bunched with tension. She imagined touching his back quite a lot.