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

by Jaclyn Dolamore

  “He frightened me,” Irik said. “And I didn’t leave my home for a man to frighten me like that.” She huffed gently before changing tone, as if she was reminding herself that Parsons couldn’t necessarily be trusted. “That is, I do respect Calban very much. I’m just concerned that maybe he shouldn’t take the blood anymore, if that is what he’s doing.”

  “Calban…he speaks to Lord Jherin every day, doesn’t he?”

  “So he says.”

  “You’ve never seen Lord Jherin, have you?”

  “No.”

  What if Calban’s plan was to turn Lord Jherin and the Four Generals into vampires? She knew Dennis lacked control and had a certain power to influence people. Two terrifying qualities in a leader.

  “I don’t know what to do.” Irik sounded defeated now. “If Calban didn’t worry about almost biting my tongue off, I don’t know what I can say to him.”

  “I didn’t know you were in a romantic relationship with Calban,” Parsons said.

  “I would not say ‘romantic’,” Irik said. “I thought he was a hero, rescuing me and my people from the famine, sweeping me off my feet and bringing me to a grand new world. But all he cares about is that I figure out this shape-shifting magic. The experiments on prisoners have continued, even after the last two going wrong.”

  “I see…”

  Irik paused like she expected Parsons to have a suggestion as to what to do. Parsons’ mind drew a blank. Just because she had always known Calban didn’t mean she could discuss any of this with him. The balance of power was entirely in his favor. If he wanted Dennis' blood, he was going to take it. If he wanted to become a vampire and live forever, he would do it. Could she talk to Papa about it? No, she couldn’t imagine him standing up to Calban.

  It only solidified her resolve. She had to send Dennis back to America.

  “Maybe it will get better,” Irik said. “He seems to take these protests very much to heart.”

  “Protests? You mean the sabotage of the books?”

  “That, the vandalism of the mills…all sorts of small incidents. He has worked so hard on this promise to his people. I can tell he’s distressed, but I would imagine that a man who has lived so many years becomes harder and harder to comfort.”

  “He’s probably just tired,” Parsons said, remembering Calban speaking wearily of wanting to avoid war.

  Irik nodded, removing herself from the conversation. Outwardly, she had regained control of her emotions. She looked detached and elegant as she went to get a drink.

  Parsons slipped her hand in her pocket, running her fingers along the small silver wand. Even if she helped Dennis escape, what would become of her? Either Calban would find another job for her, or the prospect of marriage would loom larger by the day.

  She couldn’t really blame anyone but herself. She could have gone to the university.

  Mr. Samaron approached her, with that same smile that made her skin crawl at work.

  “Miss Belvray. No snake today?”

  “Not today…”

  “I hope you are here to dance. Otherwise, you’re quite a tease.”

  “I suppose I am here to dance.”

  “I’d be honored to put my name down.”

  For some reason, it annoyed her that he kept saying he’d be ‘honored’ to dance. It just seemed like too much. She imagined his hand at her waist, the way Venn was holding Els at this very moment, and it horrified her.

  But, one dance. She would live. If she didn’t have one dance, Papa could say she hadn’t given Mr. Samaron a chance.

  “Just one,” she said. “I just got here, so I have a lot of other boys to talk to.” She handed him the card.

  “Of course,” he said. “But I’ll be surprised if any of them find you as beautiful as I do.” He scribbled his name and winked. “I’ll see you for the waltz.”

  Parsons rushed over to Els with that one glaring name on her card, not caring that she was interrupting conversation. “Els—please help. I’ve got to fill this card. I know if I don’t, Mr. Samaron is going to try to dance with me again and again.”

  “What’s wrong with Mr. Samaron?” Venn asked.

  “Parsons thinks he’s creepy,” Els said.

  “Hey.” Parsons glowered. “You’re making it out like I’m imagining it. He is creepy.”

  “I’m sorry,” Els said earnestly. “Of course he’s creepy. I just don’t know him. Which one is he?”

  “In the corner, the tall one, but don’t stare.”

  “He is tall,” Els said. “But, I agree. I don’t like his face.” She took Parsons’ card and handed it to Venn. He readily scribbled his name.

  “He just said he’d be surprised if anyone finds me as beautiful as he does,” Parsons said.

  “He might just be flustered,” Venn said. “It’s hard to be a guy. You have to do all the asking and complimenting and courting, and girls can just look at you and say, ‘No’.”

  “He certainly doesn’t seem flustered,” Parsons said. “He’s not a kid like you, Venn.”

  Els made a little nervous sound. “Okay, okay. Come on. Let’s fill up this card.”

  Els dragged her around to all the boys she knew, with predictable responses. They looked reluctant and tried to politely avoid it. “I didn’t know Parsons danced.”

  “I usually don’t,” Parsons said, already hating all of this.

  “Well—I might have to leave early,” the next one said.

  “Fine by me. I just need someone to write names down so I can show it to my father,” Parsons said.

  Els elbowed Parsons in the ribs and gave the boys her pleading eyes. Once the most casual dances were gone, they looked even more uncomfortable. No one wanted to share a romantic dance with her.

  Finally Parsons snatched the card back from one tall, bewildered looking boy, stormed out of the room to the hall, and tore the card in half.

  Els followed, perfectly elegant with her braids draped across her arm, shaking her head. “What is wrong with you?”

  “You know what’s wrong with me.”

  “No! Not really! Those are nice guys. They don’t want to dance with you? No kidding! You treat boys like they’re poison.”

  “They started it. Since the first day I came back to school like this. They didn’t want to touch me or sit with me. You remember.”

  “But we were kiiids.” Els shook her shoulders. “I don’t know what to tell you. You have to give them something to work with.”

  “Why? I don’t want to. It’s always been easy for you and you always assume it’d be easy for me too, if I just stopped being stubborn. And you drink it up, too. Do you even really like boys and sex as much as you say? Because I know, deep down, all this is still driving you crazy.” She motioned to Els’ long draping sleeves and skirt. “You’re not that different from me. You gave up on all your dreams, and you don’t know what else to do but put all your focus on falling in love, because that’s allowed.”

  Els’ mouth snapped open. “I haven’t had enough drinks to deal with this. What dreams did we have, anyway? Stupid kid dreams.”

  “They weren’t stupid, they were ours.”

  “We were never going to live in the woods together, or go to Paris. You were the one who told me we wouldn’t, on the day I had to grow up.”

  Parsons stared off down the hall. Some chairs sat against the wall, for anyone who needed to sit down away from the crowd. The lighting was more glaring here, electric bulbs poking out from the wall at intervals. To the left was the stairway to the main hall and the exit, to the right…deeper into the palace depths.

  “I don’t know what I want, Els. I don’t know. When you get married and have kids, I don’t know what I’ll do.”

  “It won’t change.”

  “Yes. It will. Look at the girls we went to school with who are already married. They talk about babies all day.”

  Els sighed. “In the end, it’s up to you whether you want to be a part of my whole life. When I ge
t married, you’ll be welcome any time. You can play with my babies. You’re like my sister. But I can’t promise you that my world will revolve around us the way it did when we were young.”

  “I know.” Parsons was curt.

  “I don’t care if you get married or work,” Els said. “I just want you to give yourself a chance and not be afraid.”

  “I’m not going to get married or work,” Parsons cried. “My life is all messed up. I don’t know how to deal with men. I ruined my own chances of a good job when I didn’t focus on my studies. I’m not as smart as my mother anyway. And I can’t travel, which is the one thing I think I really would have wanted…” She shut her eyes and waved a hand. “Never mind me. I sound pathetic even to myself.”

  “Parsons…I care about you so much. You know that.”

  “Yeah.” Parsons slumped into a chair and kneaded her forehead. “I know you care about me. And it’s not all about me. Go ahead and tell me, if you want. ‘Maybe you should stop blaming everything on being a Fanarlem, Parsons’.”

  “I would never say that,” Els said. She hovered a moment, as if unsure what to do. “You’re not the only one who can’t travel, you know. Halnari aren’t really welcome most places. Other Miralem hate us, and the average Daramon doesn’t trust any telepaths. And we’re forbidden from going to Earth too, because of our shapeshifting. We’d need illusion spells the same way you do.”

  “I know,” Parsons said. But Els seemed happier with her lot these days. That was the problem. She probably couldn’t have been friends with Els, if she didn’t bring cheer to Parsons’ gloom. But sometimes it was just too much. She felt very far away from Els right now.

  “You should get back to it,” Parsons said.

  “Your dance card is still readable…”

  “I’ll join you soon,” Parsons said. “I have a headache.”

  Parsons barely had time to muster her courage before Mr. Samaron joined her in the hall. “Miss Belvray…”

  She had been sitting down, but quickly rose and brushed off her skirt, afraid he might sit down beside her. “I have a headache,” she repeated. He probably wouldn’t even believe that Fanarlem could get headaches, although she did. Mental ones. Or maybe her screws were too tight. Who knew how it worked. One of the many problems with her body was that no one believed any physical excuse to get out of something; some people didn’t even realize Fanarlem needed sleep.

  “Our waltz is up next, but if you’d rather rest…” He walked up to her. “Your father told me you’re shy.”

  “Oh, did he now?”

  “You won’t even give me a chance? We can take it slow.”

  Parsons didn’t like that at all. They weren’t ‘taking’ anything in the first place. But she was feeling tongue-tied. Papa wanted so badly for her to give this man a chance. “I—I guess.”

  He held out his hand with a grin, and led her back into the room to the dance floor.

  She barely heard the music as his hand slipped around her waist. He was still holding her other hand, and he stopped to admire it before he took up the dancing position. “Do you know, you have the most perfect hands? Even with a few ink stains, they are works of art.”

  She tried to laugh off her discomfort. “You come on very strong.”

  “I can’t help it. I make excuses to come into Product Development, just to see you.”

  She never had trouble with a retort in the office, but that was the office. She didn’t know what to say here. He finally shifted the position of his hand, lifting it to dance, and started swirling her around. She wasn’t a good dancer. She stepped on him over and over. He only looked at her fondly. “Good thing you’re so lightweight.”

  That wasn’t a comforting comment either.

  Somehow, the dance went by. It seemed both very quick, and practically eternal. All she could feel was that hand gripping her waist like it never intended to let her go, and her feet stepping all over him without the slightest effect.

  When it was over, just as she feared, his hands tightened a little in preparation for her attempted escape.

  “I suppose your father told you my position,” Mr. Samaron said.

  “Sort of.”

  “I was very honored to take part in Lord Calban’s tests, but it does make things awkward for me. ‘Infertile’ is not a word that charms the ladies.” He laughed nervously.

  Parsons was starting to feel slightly bad for him. The pressure to have children might be more intense for women, but obviously it took two people to fulfill the Wodrenarune’s command that all Daramons should have as many children as possible. Mr. Samaron would be in a hard place. Either he had to disclose the ill effects of the experiment right away, or he risked any girl he courted finding out secondhand and accusing him of hiding it from her.

  But, he was right. It didn’t charm her either.

  “I’m glad I have my uses.” Parsons tried for a withering tone. “But, if neither of us can have children, there’s no reason for either of us to marry at all.”

  “Of course there is! I mean—isn’t the world easier to face with a companion?” His eyes were starting to take on that look he gave her at work again. “The thing is, I’ve always found girls like you the most beautiful of all. But I do want a real girl with a real soul, a wife—not a concubine.”

  Parsons felt sick. “I don’t like skarnwen.”

  “Nasty word,” he said. “I suspect you’re just not used to being told you’re beautiful and it scares you. You close yourself off to the men who would cherish you…” He moved a hand to her hair.

  “Let go of me, please. I don’t want to make a scene.” She was freshly aware of how much he physically overwhelmed her. They were in a crowded room, but it was rather dark and the music was loud and no one seemed to be paying any attention.

  “Fates, Parsons, what do I have to do? I can’t stop looking at you. Even with all your moods.”

  “Even with my moods?” Parsons was just spitting out words at this point, her brain fuzzed with panic. Her ears were distracted by a blur of dance music. The ragtime dance that was starting now sounded frenzied.

  “I know my father was just a dock worker, but I’ve come so far in such a short time; no one works as hard as me, Parsons. I’d give you the life you’re accustomed to.”

  “You don’t even know me.”

  “I want to know you. Why are you so stubborn?” His hand slid even farther around his waist and he pressed his chin against the crown of her head, breathing in her perfume. The hand that held hers slipped down to her wrist, his fingers stroking along the bones of her arm, like he was thinking about constructing her—or maybe deconstructing her.

  Or maybe she’d heard too many crazy Fanarlem concubine stories whispered at school, but—

  She jerked her arm from him, finally breaking free of his alarmingly strong grip, only for him to grab her again.

  “I think you like the fight,” he said. “You don’t like men to be too soft and sappy with you, do you?”

  She felt a weird twinge of attraction. But not for him.

  He must have seen it in her eyes. Before she could react, his hand was on the back of her head and his mouth was opening against hers. He jerked away a split second before he could force his way into a kiss.

  “Mr. Samaron,” she said, trying to sound firm. “Stop it. I don’t have feelings for you.”

  “It’s someone else, isn’t it?” He sounded like he had an idea.

  “No. No, it’s no one! Just let me go!”

  This time her voice was loud enough that it made him nervous. He shoved her away.

  “I would be a good husband to you,” he snapped. “Maybe you’ll come to your senses eventually.” He smoothed his hair back from his face before turning away.

  Parsons bolted for the door. She had meant to stick it out for most of the dances, but her card was already ruined, anyway.

  She knew the place she needed to try and find. No reason to put it off any longer. She couldn’t
spend another minute in sight of Mr. Samaron. She glanced behind her just to make sure he wasn’t following.

  ‘You like the fight’? Stars, no. Not like that.

  The palace had long, beautiful halls that seemed airy in the summer and drafty in the winter, with soaring ceilings and tall glass windows. Since it was dark outside, they reflected her own image back at her, with the electric lights on the wall appearing behind her like specters. She felt very small, which was surely the idea. She descended a broad staircase, meant to accommodate large crowds, but her footsteps echoed in the silence of night.

  The hall she walked now was painted in a light green, with murals of ladies clad in flower wreaths and flowing dresses. Something about it seemed familiar. The windows, she thought, looked out on the garden. She could hear faint music above her, so she was below the dance.

  Is this the place? Is this the hallway we walked through before we went to Paris?

  If so, there should be a stairway around here somewhere.

  She soon found them. Her steps led her into the depths of the palace, walking faster as she turned corners.

  She poked her head into the room full of travel mirrors.

  “Parsons? What are you doing here?”

  Uncle Nihem. She hadn’t expected him to be the one working late. A welcome surprise.

  “Ah—your father said you went to the dance,” he said.

  “Yes…”

  His mouth scrunched sideways. “Am I to assume it’s not going well?”

  “No, not really.” She entered the room, gazing around. She didn’t remember so many mirrors the last time, although her memory was hazy. A dozen of them lined the walls, most the size of a doorway, but one was indeed large enough to drive through. “What are you doing down here?” she asked. “I didn’t realize you worked so late.”

  “Someone has to watch the portals at all times,” he said.

  “Why?”

  “Oh…once in a very rare while a human gets through.”

  “Oh? What happens then?”

  He pointed at a table with a mess of spell bottles. “We give them a memory tonic and shove them right back out again. Then I have to quickly block the portal and move it. It’s quite an awkward situation, I must say. They’re so confused. It’s only happened twice on my watch.” He glanced around the room until his eyes found a bowl of nuts. “You need a snack?”